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APHEI LA; 



AJSTD OTHEB 



POEMS, 



MISS JULIA PLEASANTtf AJrfl) THOMAS BIBB BBADLSY* 



NEW YORK : 
CHARLES BCEIBNER, 
1854. 







T- 



<j 



T4- 



Entered according to Act of Congress In the year 1853, by 

CHARLES SCRIBNER, 

m the Clerk's Qflice of the Djstnct Court of the United States for the 
Souhern District of JNcw Vork, 



tobitt's COMBINATION-TYPE, 
181 William-st. 



®0 % ffowrs 
0f tfc* f 0ba ob £0st 

WE DEDICATE OUR POEMS. 



CONTENTS 







Pagh 


Proem 


By T. B. Bradley 


13 


To the Reader 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


15 


Apheila 


By T. B. Bradley 


18 


The Evil Days 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


32 


Twilight's Dream 


do. 


34 


The Evening Star 


By T. B. Bradley 


39 


Execution of Andre . 


do. 


46 


An Eagle's Plume 


. . Miss Julia Pleasants 


55 


A Sister's Reverie 


By T. B. Bradley 


58 


I'm Time to Thee 


Miss Julia Pleasants' 


62 



VI. 



CONTENTS. 







Page 


To a Dove 


By T. B. Bradley 


64 


Sycamore Tree 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


68 


Festive Hall . 


do. 


75 


I Never Have Met Thee 


do. 


79 


Idylheimar 


do. 


82 


Daniel Webster 


do. 


86 


To One on Earth 


By T. B. Bradley 


90 


Lady of Ayr . 


do. 


98 


I Remember Her Well 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


102 


I'll Hasten to Thee, Love 


By T. B. Bradley 


104 


Then Linger thou Zephyr 


do. 


106 


The Clouds on the Mountain 


do. 


108 


We Met to Part Forever 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


110 


Impromptu Prophetic . 


do. 


113 


Song of Io 


By T. B. Bradley 


115 


The Melancholy Hour . 


do. 


120 


The Lost 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


128 


To a Beloved Poet 


By T. B. Bradley 


132 


Addie 


do. 


136 


The Vanished Race . 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


139 


I Love no Mo»" H 


do. 


143 



CONTENTS. 



Vll. 









Page 


Memorial to Mrs. Ann Bibb . 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


147 


Hush My Heart 




do. 


150 


The Fountain and the Tree . 


ByT. 


B. Bradley 


153 


The Persian Bride 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


159 


In the Bower . 


By T. B. Bradley 


166 


I Love but Thee 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


168 


I'm Loneliest in a Crowd 




do. 


172 


The Beautiful . 




do. 


174 


To my Lyre . 




do. 


176 


Zion . 




do. 


179 


Lines on Laying a Corner-Sto] 


ie 


do. 


181 


To a Bird 




do. 


184 


Philippi 




do. 


187 


A Star-light Chaunt . 




do. 


191 


The Maiden's Choice . 




do. 


195 


The Dead Minstrel 




do. 


202 


I Love Thee . 




do. 


213 


Powers' Greek Slave . 




do. 


208 


Ponce De Leon's Dream 


. ByT 


B. Bradley 


218 


The Two Scenes 




do. 


243 


My Brother . 




do. 


247 



VJ 11. c 


N T E N T S . 


PAgh 


The Three Pilgrims . 


Miss Julia Pleasants 


251 


To One Beautiful 


do. 


257 


A Day 


do. 


261 


The Prophecy 


do. 


264 


A Song 


do. 


268 


This World . 


do. 


270 



PEOEM. 



In our own lovely clime, where orange bowers 

Luxurious bloom to woo the wanton air, 

Sweet Poesy forever young and fair 

"With unlooped tresses roams. She waves her wand 

"Where monarch trees with bending boughs await, 

And bursting buds attest her gentle touch. 

Where o'er the rugged rocks the cataract roars 

All beautiful she bends her airy form, 

And lo ! the rainbow curves to greet her there. 

Oh I well she loves our dewy summer morns 
2 (13) 



14 PROEM. 

That like Diana's maids sport on the hills, 
Our noons that soft voluptuous matrons sleep, 
Our fair-haired eves that dream delicious dreams, 
As brides grown pensive o'er their cups of joy- 
While silk-fringed lashes o'er their blue orbs drooped, 
"While speed the golden hours. Her step imprints 
Our verdant vales, and flowers of brightest hue 
Do blossom where she treads. Her voice attunes 
Each little rill that murmurs as it glides, 
All fountains gushing in perpetual joy, 
All rivers gleaming in our primal woods. 
With unwreathed lyres together we have roamed 
Where in our silent groves the goddess reigns, 
Where in our forest-aisles her altars glow, 
And kneeling there our earnest vows have said, 
Our grateful incense poured, and sang what songs 
Our sad hearts bade us sing. 



TO THE EEADEK. 



Give us thy heart, awhile, not thou 

With the mirthful lip and the joyous brow ; 

There are no sweet sounds for the glad and free 

In the solemn surge of the storm-swept sea, 

And we seek not to win a wand'ring glance 

Erom the rose-hued hall and the choral dance, 

Where the red wine flows, and the bright lamps gleam, 

Go give thy moments to Pleasure's dream. 

Eor we have not wreathed the poet's shell, 

Eor the idler steeped in her lotus-spelL '■"' 

(15) 



16 TO THE READER. 

But give us thy heart — thou lonely one, 
"Who hath watched all night for the tardy sun ; 
Who hath showered out tears, and poured out prayer 
For the bright-winged joy that was flying there ; 
While the spirit shrivelled to sorrow's touch 
At the starless post by the suffering couch ; 
Where the lip grew chill, and the breath grew faint 
In the quivering throat of a dying saint. 

Give us thy heart — thou mourner pale, 

Whose treasures sleep in the silent vale ; 

Whose soul rolls down through the shades of Time, 

Like a sombre stream with a leaden chime ; 

While the whispering hopes on its banks are hushed, 

Like a waste of reeds th at the storm hath crushed. 

Thou who hast conn'd in the morn of life 

Its noonday lesson of grief and strife, 

Who hast early marched with a martyr's smile, 

To the fagot-heap of a funeral pile, 

Where thy blue- eyed Youth in its golden hair 

In a fearful flame rose wildly there. 

Thou who hast turned in an ill-starred hour 
From the rose festoons of the trysting bower, 
With thy brow in a bath of bitterest brine, 
And thy spirit sad as the stbrm-lashed pine : 



TO THE READER. 17 

And learned for a life time the sickening spell, 
That harrowed the soul in that wild farewell, 
When they faded away in a sorrowful mist — 
The eyes you had loved, and the lips you had kissed ! 

Thou who hast seen on a desolate night — 
The earth grow dark, and the grave grow bright ; 
Whose eyelids have drooped as the phantoms grim 
That trooped from the shades of the future dim 
Came rustling around thee their long dark plumes^ 
And blackening thy soul with midnight glooms. 
Thou who hast wept for the tender and young, 
Whose bosoms to thine in their anguish clung, 
And hast struggled to play a fostering part 
When thine own was an orphan's broken heart ! 
Whoever thou art that hast suffered and wept 
When the revel rung, and the peaceful slept, 
On whatever shore — by whatever stream, 
The fate of a friend, or the death of a dream, 
Come give us thy heart, and blame not the lyre 
If tear-drops of sorrow have faded it nre. 



APHEILA. 



•And because this Demon always removes joy, and begets 
gloom, and because he doth cast shadows over things fair and 
beautiful, I will now bestow upon him a name that shall be for 
the days to come, and the name shall be Apheila — destroyer. 

Fcelix, Monk of Qroyland. 



Neath a lordly oak tree's shadow, in a velvet, verdant 

meadow, 
In the verdant month of April, blue-eyed April soft and 

fair, 
Where two silvery brooks did glisten, I was pausing still 

to listen 
To the murmuring of leaflets, making music in the 

air, 
To the words which Zephyr whispered to the wild flowers 

blushing there, 

And that morn I smiled at care. 

(18) 



APHEILA. 19 

Every pulse with pleasure thrilling, all my soul with 

rapture filling, 
Then I said, that balmy April — " Lo ! my life is full of 

glee I 
And my future shall be cheery, not a single moment 

dreary, 
Joyous sunshine without shadow round my footsteps e'er 

shall be, 
And each gay, capricious moment yield its blessing ere 

it flee ! 

Lo ! the earth is bright for me I" 



But Apheila came beside me, and he came there to de- 
ride me, j 

From that tideless, torpid ocean in the cursed Demon - 
land, 

Where, on pinions wan and wailing, dusky robes behind 

them trailing, 
Float forever phantom figures, floating alway from the 

strand ! 
Grhastly vapors rose about me, sickly mists on either 

hand, 

"When Apheila waved his wand. 



20 APHEILA. 

Slowly o'er the verdant meadow rolled the Demon's lurid 
shadow, 

With a sober, solemn motion, like a corpse upon the 
sea ; 

As it rolled, the wild flowers quivered, and their shrink- 
ing petals shivered, 

And the falling leaflets rustled as they withered from the 
tree, 

And, quite palsied with my terror, I did sink upon my 
knee, 

When this shadow covered me. 



All my soul with anguish swelling, and my heart its hor- 
ror knelling, 

By loud ringings in my bosom, as a brazen bell may 
ring, 

Much I feared that dismal morning that Apheila was 
my king — 

That my future should be dreary, not a single moment 
cheery, 

That dark shadows, lurid shadows, shadows from the 
Demon's wing, 

Eound my pathway e'er should cling ! 



APHEILA. 21 

In an arbor sylvan, shady, made for wooing gentle 

lady, 
Where the rarest roses cluster, growing up in queenly 

luster, 
"Where the Yenus-nurtured myrtle blooms and blossoms 

in its pride — 
In the twilight I was sitting, with a maiden by my 

side, 
While the hours on golden sandals did like a bright. 

eyed Houris glide, 

With Alvora by my side. 



Sweet Alvora ! dear Alvora ! who saw her did adore 

her 1 
Darkest eyes, whose silken lashes softly veiled their 

burning beams, 
Raven curls about her playing, o'er her swelling bosom 

straying, 
Lips with nectar ever flowing, tender cheek with blushes 

glowing — 
Lovelier angel waves her tresses not in mortal's blissful 

dreams, 

Not by Heaven's eternal streams ! 



22 APHEILA. 

In the arbor I was seated, knowing not how moments 
fleeted, 

With Alvora's lustrous glances piercing to my spirit's 
core, 

When the darkness came a-wooing,like an ardent bride- 
groom suing, 

And the crimson-tinted twilight to his astral palace 
bore, 

While the matron moon approving did her brightest 
beamings pour, 

And the palace glided o'er. 



Soon the twinkling Pleiades shining through the lattice 

vine-entwining, 
With their liquid streams of beauty bade a hopeful fancy 

rise — 
For the radiant sisters seven, stars serenest in the 

heaven, 
Shone as seven angel faces, with their blessed angel 

eyes, 
On the maiden and her lover, looking from the kindly 

skies, 

On us smiling from the skies ! 



APHE1LA. 23 

Every pulse with pleasure thrilling, all my soul with 

rapture filling — 
" My Alvora " then I murmured, " press thy loving 

heart to mine ! 
Shade my cheek with raven tresses, lavish on me warm 

caresses, 
And thy arms so full and glowing round my throbbing 

bosom twine, 
And thy lips, with nectar flowing, seal them closer unto 



mine 



i 

Till I k sip a draught divine ! 



" For the future shall be cheery, not a single moment 
dreary ; 

Lo ! the angels they have spoken, in the sky they hang 
a token 

Of the blessings thick and thronging which the future 
hath in store : 

In a pathway strewn with roses, which the soft moon 
silvers o'er, 

Joy before us lightly tripping, like a tuneful trouba- 
dour, 

We will wander evermore !" 



24 APHEILA. 

But Apheila came beside us, and he came thereto de- 
ride us, 

From that tideless, torpid ocean, with its single surfless 
shore, 

Where, on pinions wan and wailing, dusky robes be- 
hind them trailing, 

Float forever phantom figures, floating alway from the 
shore ! 

And with Demon's noiseless footstep he did move within 
the door, 

With his shadow cast before ! 



Then the queenly roses quivered, and the trembling lat- 
tice shivered, 

Till its vines enwreathing withered, dropping crispate 
on the floor, 

And the radiant sisters seven, stars serenest in the 
heaven, 

Veiled their seven angel faces, and their shrouds of 
sable wore, 

When the Demon's dismal shadow all the arbor covered 
o'er, 

All the arbor darkened o'er ! 



APHEILA. 25 

In this darkness so appalling, then I heard the footsteps 

falling 
Of a maiden moving slowly, sadly to the arbor 

door — 
Of Alvora ! dear Alvora I passing through the arbor 

door. 
And an echo full of sorrow did its lonely cadence 

borrow 
From her footsteps sounding hollow, as she vanished 

from the door, 

And I saw her — nevermore ! 



All my soul with anguish swelling, and my heart its 

horror knelling, 
By loud ringings in my bosom, as a brazen bell may 

ring, 
Much I feared that awful moment that Apheila was my 

king- 
That my future should be dreary, not a single moment 

cheery, 
That dark shadows, lurid shadows, shadows from the 

Demon's wing, 

Bound my pathway e'er should cling I 



26 APHE1LA. 

In a temple vast and olden, whose wide portals, grand 

and golden, 
Always open have been gleaming from the distant days 

of yore, 
With a spirit full of feeling, strange emotions o'er me 

stealing, 
In the midnight, still and solemn, I was standing on the 

floor, 
Where an incense-burning censer, of a royal purple 

ore, 

Purple beamings did outpour. 



Soon I saw the censer swinging, in a circle slowly 
swinging, 

And I heard the lonely tinkle of a single silver 
bell; 

When the silence thus was broken by this curious silver 
token, 

Stirring strains of martial mnsic, like the stormy ocean's 
swell, 

From the floor unto the ceiling, through the olden tem- 
ple pealing, 

On my ravished hearing fell. 



APHEILA. 27 

But its bolder notes subsided, in such happy measure 

glided, 
That all care did flee my bosom as the darkness flees 

the day ; 
Then this measure glided slowly to a cadence soft and 

holy, 
Till, in dying notes canorous, in a pean's saintly 

chorus, 
To the temple's deep cavazion this strange music rolled 

away — 

With sweet echoes rolled away ! 

Then the censer ceased its swinging, in a circle no 
more swinging, 

And the lonely, solemn tinkle of the bell I heard once 
more; 

When the silence thus was broken by this distant curi- 
ous token, 

Stately trains behind them flowing, [all with silk and 
silver glowing, 

Lordly figures saw E marching through the open golden 
door, 

And the lordliest marched before. 



28 APHEILA. 

Through the portals open golden of the temple vast 
and olden, 

Down the nave did move each figure with a footstep 
slow and grand, 

With his train behind him flowing, all with silk and 
silver glowing, 

With the censer o'er him beaming, on his regal fore- 
head beaming, 

As a hero great in story, as a monarch crowned in 

Seemed each figure in the band ! 



All my soul with rapture filling, with an eager rapture 

thrilling, 
Then I said, that joyous moment — " In this temple let 

me dwell, 
While, in legions closely crowded, ghostly centuries 

enshrouded, 
By their sad sepulchral dirges of their solemn transit 

tell! 
With these heroes great in story, with these monarchs 

crowned in glory, 

Made immortal let me dwell 1" 



APHEILA. 29 

But Apheila came beside me, and he came there to 

deride me, 
From that tideless, torpid ocean, with its single surfless 

shore, 
And his ebon pinions folden brushed the portals open 

golden, 
Of the temple vast and olden, when he moved within 

the door, 
When with Demon's noiseless footstep he did move 

within the door, 

With his shadow cast before ! 



And the waning censer shivered when this shadow o'er 

it quivered, 
When this shadow, upward stealing, rolled along the 

vaulted ceiling, 
With a sober solemn motion, like a corpse upon the 

sea, 
Till with pall of sable covered all the temple seemed 

to be, 
And quite palsied with my terror I did sink upon my 

knee, 

With this darkness shrouding me ! 



30 APHE1LA. 

Then, my heart with anguish beating, I did hear the 

steps retreating 
Of the lordly figures moving to the open golden 

door, 
And an echo fall of sorrow, did its lonely cadence 

borrow 
From their footsteps sounding hollow, as they passed 

from out the door ! 
And my bosom with that echo which the temple floated 

o'er 

Shall be thrill ins: — evermore! 



By this soul where memory weeping mournful vigil e'er 

is keeping, 
By this heart despair hath broken, by full many a 

weary token — 
Since that midnight I do know it, that Apheila is my 

king 1 
That my future must be dreary, not a single moment 

cheery, 
That dark shadows, lurid shadows, shadows from the 

Demon's wing, 

Round my pathway e'er must cling ! 



APHEILA. 31 

By this current strangely flowing, not one ripple ever 
knowing, 

By these sails of somber fashion, which a zephyr never 
fanned, 

By this darkness so appalling, like a curtain round me 
falling — 

Well I know that I am moving to the distant Demon- 
land, 

In a vessel launched by Demons, by a mortal never 
planned, 

To the cursed Demon-land 1 

And Alpheila sits beside me, and each day he doth 
deride me, 

As we near that tideless ocean, with its single surfless 
shore, 

Where, on pinions wan and wailing, dusky robes] be- 
hind them trailing, 

Float forever phantom figures, singing dirges ever- 
more ! 

When my vessel skims that ocean, with its singed and 
surfless shore, 

It shall leave it — nevermore ! 



THE EVIL DAYS. 



Alas ! the evil days have now drawn nigh, 
The evil days that bring no joys with them ; 

With drooping heads they wander slowly by, 
Sad-hearted kings without a diadem. 

The silver lute is silent in my heart, 
The golden waters from its fountain gone ; 

The bright wing'd birds of Paradise depart. 
And leave its garden desolate and lone. 

(32) 



THE EVIL DAYS. 33 

The sandal-tree lies leafless on the plain, 
The crystal dew has fleeted from the rose, 

The bulbul links no more his music-chain, 
And slow and sad the languid zephyr flows. 

Alas I the evil days have now drawn nigh, 
When like a royal mourner clad in weeds, 

Adown the crape-hung arches of the sky 
His funeral march the day-god slowly leads. 

How deep the gloom that shrouds my devious way, 
How cold the winds that chili me where I roamf 

How dark the waste that widens as I stray, 
The evil days, the evil days, have come ! 



TWILIGHT'S DKEAH. 



When the golden day of childhood, 

As an arrow, fleeted by ; 
And when Youth, like tender twilight, 

Hung around my rosy sky, 
Then there came a radiant vision — 

Soft and fair it came to me, , 
Like a star in silver sandals, 

Dancing on a dreaming sea. 

Had that vision had a portrait, 
It had worn the eyes of blue, 

And the gold-hair of an angel, 
With her pearly pinions too ; 

(34) 



twilight's dream. 35 

For 'twas heavenly in its beauty, 

And it quickly sped away 
Ere the timid stars of promise 

Clustered round its shining way. 

It fled — but while it lingered, 

I was happy for an hour, 
As the tiny winged empress 

Of the honey-suckle bower ; 
If at times there rushed a sadness 

Prom my spirit to my brow, 
It was not the settled sorrow, 

That is imaged on it now. 



For my heart was light and thoughtless, 

When that beauteous vision came ; 
And my life was like a picture, 

Hung within a golden frame. 
Though 'twas purpling into twilight, 

On its fairy mountains lay 
All the bright and blessed sunshine, 

That had crowned the dying day : 



36 twilight's dream. 

And the tender tear, that sometimes, 

To my dreaming eye, would start, 
And the pensive shade, that floated 

To my features from my heart : 
They were but the fleeting cloudlets 

On the crystal sky of noon, 
Or the shadows from the moonlight, 

On the velvet sward of June. 



Yes, I knelt, a thoughtless wanderer, 

For a moment by a shore, 
With a Fairy Land behind me, 

And a Fairy Sea before ; 
While a barque, whose rainbow banners 

Through the twilight fluttered free, 
And a single shining planet 

Seemed to woo me o'er the sea. 



But that lovely fancy left me, 
And it left my heart a wreck, 

With the winds and waters wrestling, 
On the torn dismantled deck. 



37 



Never more across the billows, 
Like a birdling, may it glide, 

And its gold dust and its jewels 
Strew the waters far and wide. 



For it tossed upon the ocean, 

When the night of life grew dark, 
And the taloDs of the tempest 

Tore the plumage of my barque : 
And when griefs were strong and countless 

Then were friendships faint and few, 
And my dream of starry beauty 

In the darkness vanished too. 



Like a ship with spices laden, 

Strewing perfumes on the gales, 
Sweeping past a lonely island, 

"With the sunshine on her sails — 
Like a bird, on glancing pinions, 

Bearing carols, wild and gay 
Through the dim and voiceless distance, 

Lo it fleetly sped away. 
3 



38 



But my clinging memories clasp it, 
As a wreath of summer vines, 

With their pale neglected flowers, 

* Bound a broken pillar twines. 

Through my spirit still 'tis floating, 
Like a half remembered tune, 

Or a faded rainbow swinging 
Eound a cold and misty moon : 

Yes, though clouds, in thick battalions, 
i Stand around the starless skies, 
And a world of solid darkness 

On my sorrowing spirit lies. 
Oft that twilight dream of raptures 

"Wanders softly back to me, 
Like a star in silver sandals, 

Dancing on a dreaming sea. 



THE EVENING- STAR 



Within this narrow church-yard I did roam 

Erom where the village lights appal my gaze 

To kneel and weep beside this new-made grave, 

To bow my head in agony and clasp 

My solemn pulses o'er my brother's dust, 

And bid them beat sad requiem for his loss. 

With weary footstep hither I did come 

To note the mantling ivy twine its wreath 

Around my father's mouldering tomb, to hear 

The lone wind sing its hollow dirge, and lift 

(39) 



40 THE EVENING STAK. 

Unto the moon despair's wan face. To hold 
Communion with the dead I love, alone 
And undisturbed to lean my drooping head 
Against this sepulchre and count my griefs 
I wandered here. And I did think to see 
The emblem-phantom of my woes start up 
From his fit crouching-place behind this tomb, 
And lay his skeleton hand upon my breast, 
And palsy me with one sole look. But whence 
Hath he removed his visage lank ? For him 
Is not this rank grass most congenial lair 
To coil his uncouth length at ease, and wait 
To hear his victim sighing as he comes ? 

Yet lo ! how stillness broods, and, awed to peace, 
I turn my gaze unto the midnight skies. 
Ah ! I do see thee now, blest evening-star, 
Thou pure orb blushing in thy loveliness, 
And trembling like an angel's heart, when God 
Doth praise for some especial mission done. 
This is thy own hour, and my troubled soul 
Erom wild and bitter thoughts to holy rest 
Is wooed and won by thy serenity. 
Thou pausest in the firmament to call 
To me, and at thy voice the swelling waves, 
That bear my spirit's bark to woe's dark gulf, 



THE EVENING STAR. 41 

Are still and stormless as a mountain lake ; 
And the rent sails are glad, and hoist their shreds, 
Their soiled and sorry shreds, to feel the breeze 
That blows from the celestial isles. 

Bright one, 
Thou dost unloose from gems thy golden hair, 
And wavest it a signal of thy love. 
From thy pearl arms the bracelet's shining bands 
Thou dost unclasp, and swing'st them in the skies 
A token of thy sympathy. How can 
I see thy gentle smiles rejoice the heavens, 
And not rebuke the demon of unrest 
Who howls within the cavern of my soul ? 
At thy soft touch, upon my pallid brow 
The drops of grief cling motionless no more, 
But melt their coldness and are gone, and lo ! 
The funeral crape, that muffled all the beats 
Of my sad heart, is ta'en away, and hope 
Speeds on her happy throbs within my veins. 
Thou lookest on the pall above my head, 
And see ! the shroud becomes a myrtle-tree, 
And as I pluck the blossoms from its boughs 
To see its young leaves mottled with thy beams 
I feel a new delight, and seem a child. 



42 THE EVENING STAE. 

My heart is thrilled with awe whene'er I think 

In this same hour in years now dead thy kiss 

Fell warm upon the Savior's brow. How oft 

He lay 'neath solemn skies beside some stream 

That tripped with dancing feet about the base 

Of silent Olivet, and wept his tears ! 

The reverent wind then breathed its lowest sigh, 

And thou, with golden girdle on thy waist, 

Poised on the distant mountain-top, didst bow 

In adoration of thy G-od. Henceforth, 

Thou pious pilgrim I will turn to thee 

From all that starry host that circling roll 

In joyful orbits round the Father's throne 

To pay my nightly vows. Henceforth when grief 

My heart like lightning tears, and I do bend 

In agony, and tottering sway in woe, 

Tho' gasping for my breath I'll come to thee 

To quell the tempest of my soul. "Whene'er 

The world seems rude, and friends in lieu of hands 

Point daggers to my breast, and Hope lays down 

The sceptre from her grasp, untwines the wreath 

From her fair front, and chattering, idiot-like, 

Dies 'neath the iron heel of grim despair, 

Who, happy undertaker, robes her form 

In cerements for the grave, a calm cold corse, 

Oh ! then thou placid maid, the crystal doors 



THE EVENING STAR. 43 

Of thy bright palace ope, and welcome me 

A suitor on thy threshold humbly bent, 

And clasp me shivering to thy warm embrace. 

At thy command my spirit, that erewhile 
Was wont to roam in forests by the night 
Or follow the wild sea-gull in its flight 
Alone and wailing o'er the sea, no more 
Will voyage in her gloom. Guided by thee 
Her pinions will be spread for radiant isles 
That gem the baldric on old Neptune's breast, 
Where flowers are budding smiles, and blocks of ice, 
Lured from the frozen north, their coldness lose, 
And wooers then dissolve in tears for joy, 
And press their tremulous kisses on the shore. 

Thou lovely star, this night thou art to me 

A Cadmus in the firmament, and I, 

Fond pupil, learn from thee hope's alphabet. 

With thee, until the garments of the morn 

Do flutter in the eastern gate, I could, 

In thy own language hold commune ; but thou 

Must on to teach thy gentle syllables 

To others grieving as to me. Yet ere 

Thou fadest from my sight, oh ! hear my prayer. 



44 THE EVENING STAR. 

In thy still course thou wilt see much of woe — 
Sad hearts their sad sighs pouring on the air, 
Sweet lips compressed in silent suffering 
Thin hands clasped painfully upon their breasts, 
And drooping lashes dry in hopelessness. 
Comfort thou such as thou dost comfort me, 
And clothe them with the mantle of thy love ! 

The orphan weeping in his scanty bed 
Where never mother kneeled to bless her boy, 
"Will wipe his tears, and to his window crawl 
To note thy sparkling glance of sympathy. 
Thou wilt behold the ambitious man, what hour 
He bows his lordly head for honor's wrath, 
Smitten by disappointment's stalwart arm 
A moment reel upon the ground, then forth 
To stagger out from gaze of prosperous men, 
And sitting solitary 'neath the oak 
Writhe sore to feel the sharpened arrow's point 
Pierce to his bosom's core. Beam thou on him, 
And soothe the coming madness of his soul. 
The maiden by her casement leaning low 
Will hasten to the nightingale's soft dirge 
That all night long sings sadly to the moon, 
And tears will dim her gentle orbs that love 



THE EVENING STAK. 45 

"Who bore her flowers did hide in them a sting. 
Wilt sweetly speak to her, and cease the pang 
That pales the crimson of her velvet cheek, 
And pares the roundness of her tapering limbs ? 

How many, many more the old, the young, 
The grave, the gay, the proud, the poor of earth, 
Have need of thee to cheer their lonely way 
Where lies it in the wilderness of gloom ? 
Oh ! pause and give to all who pray for aid 
One ray to light the darkness of the road, 
And teach them God dwells in his moon-lit skies. 



THE EXECUTION OE ANDKE. 



He lay within his prison-house alone and desolate, 
Yet in his breast his heart beat calm, undaunted by 

his fate. 
No sunshine sought his dreary cell to bless him with 

its light, 
No rainbow arched his future sky to cheer him with 

its sight. 

To kiss his cheek, to cool his brow, to whisper soft of 

home, 

(46) 



THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE. 47 

From Albion's isle far o'er the waves no zephyr fleet 

had come. 
For him no message from his friends the rolling ocean 

bore, 
But on her gentle errand sped one whom all men adore. 

A goddess, she of queenly mein, who rules a broad 
domain, 

And radiant night and darkness are the handmaids of 
her train. 

To prince's throne or humble cot, her mission is of love, 

And at her touch stout oaken doors on noiseless hinges 
move. 

To stay her step, or check her course proud tyrants 
seek in vain ; 

At locks and bars and dungeon bolts, she laughs in 
sheer disdain. 

Not steel-clad legions in their might, arrayed in pha- 
lanx deep, 

Can bind a single fetter on the airy foot of sleep ! 

As heaps of snow on Alpine heights their stainless 

mounds dissolve, 
When bright the day-king's burnished wheels through 

glowing skies revolve ; 



48 THE EXECUTION OF ANDKE. 

As peaks of ice on Norway hill, upheaving bleak and tall, 
Before his chariot rolling fast like slaves obedient fall ; 
So sink to rest the eager hosts, in armor on the plain, 
Awaiting but the blush of morn to wield their blades 

again, 
When from her starry palace borne upon her golden car 
The soft-eyed goddess rides in state and rules the field 

of war. 

Full oft she roams without her train, from eve till dewy 
morn, 

In simple guise, with footsteps free, on angel purpose 
borne. 

Full oft a lily white doth grace her curls of raven hair 

"Whose petals full of odors perfume the wooing air. 

The orphan 'mid her gushing tears behold this lovely 
flower, 

And all her woes in blissful dreams are banished for 
the hour ; 

While weary king on his velvet couch, in purple cham- 
bers laid, 

In vain essays with royal bribes to win the fairy maid. 

This goddess waved her golden wand by Andre's 
darkened cell, 



THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE. 49 

And open flew his dungeon-door as moved by magic 

spell. 
He saw the luster of her curls, the smile upon her face, 
And in her orbs of melting blue fond mercy's glance 

could trace. 
In slumbers long, and still, and soft, his pensive eyelids 

close, 
And dreams of youth, and home, and love, his raptured 

spirit knows. 
On his hard couch a prisoner he breathed as calm and 

low 
As on a bank of violets when the summer breezes blow ! 

But he heard sounds of music, and cannon's steady roar, 
Ahd he knew the gleam of silken flags wide armies 

floating o'er. 
Then seemed his cell a battle-field, no more his spirit's 

home, 
For every blast of the bugle said, " come to the battle 

come !" 
And he fought a stalwart warrior by hero Harold's side, 
And saw the blood from the Norman's heart gush 

out in crimson tide : 



50 THE EXECUTION OF ANDEE. 

And pressed with the Saxon's fiercest tones 'mid rushing 

ranks of war, 
Where the bold Bastard's buoyant plume blazed like a 

fiery star ! 

Then with Queen Margaret's host he stood and dealt 

his sweeping blows 
For merry England, for St. George, and for the dear 

red rose. 
Then on the ravaged plains of Prance he heard his 

armor ring, 
And joined the shouts of the island men, " God bless 

our noble King !" 
With him to victor's music marched, o'er battered city 

walls, 
And quaffed French wine with British knights in 

proudest palace halls. 
And his breast heaved with rapture, his cheek flushed 

up with pride, 
To see o'er the trailing oriflamme old Albion's banner 

ride. 

But twilight breeze blew softly his swelling bosom o'er, 
And soothed his restless spirit till it dreamed of wars 
no more. 



THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE. 51 

Again the valley of his youth the glass of vision shows, 
Where moonlight kissed the leafy boughs, and winds 

did woo the rose. 
Bright stars were shining soft and still, and waters 

murmured low, 
He clasped the waist of the gentle girl he loved long 

years ago. 
Her eyes were pure and deep and dear like eyes of the 

constant dove, 
And he twined her curls of rippling gold, till thrilled his 

heart with love. 



Through all the night till maiden morn wove garlands 

in the east, 
The prisoner's spirit banqueted upon its fairy feast. 
When struggled through the iron bars the morning's 

ruddy beams, 
He roused him up from his last sleep, and woke from 

his last dream. 
He heard the soldier's sounding tramp, and a single 

cannon boom, 
And by the beat of the muffled drum he knew his hour 

of doom. 



52 THE EXECUTION OF ANDKE. 

In silence then he knelt him down and bowed himself 
in prayer, 

That God would give him strength that day the shame- 
ful death to bear. 

Then steel-clad men thro' the dungeon door moved 

slow in martial file, 
And every man gazed on the floor, and not a man did 

smile. 
"When their nodding plumes and gleaming arms flashed 

full on Andre's sight, 
One moment sorrow dimmed his eye, and his whole 

face grew white. 
Could but a levin bolt from heaven his anguished 

frame destroy, 
Its rage to him were rapture, and his doom how full of 

For Death 'mid the ranks of soldiers then a dismal 

shape had ta'en, 
And he coiled the hangman's curling rope, and clanked 

the hangman's chain. 



THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE. 

53 

The captive from his prison his guards in silence bore, 

And he walked upon the scaffold as on his native shore. 

He looked toward his own loved isle, and saw his 
mother's form ; 

He heard her sobs far o'er the sea, and felt her tear- 
drops warm, 

The gibbet ! ah, the gibbet ! should the dangling noose 
be flung 

Around that neck where sisters fond with dear caress 
had hung ! 

Should shame upon that lordly brow her stamp of tor- 
ture place, 

Where affection's kiss had lingered and honor left its 
trace ! 

But morning breezes lifted up his curls of flowing hair, 
He gazed upon the calm blue sky, for God was smiling 

there ! 
And a glory lit his forehead, and brightly beamed his 

eye; 
Let cowards wince at pangs of death, but brave men 

bravely die ! 



54 THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE. 

When the hangman stood by the prisoner's side all 

heart were dumb and still, 
But sad bells rang in every breast when the hangman 

worked his will, 
Then calmly on the dead man's face, the mocking 

sunbeams shone, 
And funeral guns the signal fired that the deed of death 

was done. 






LINES 

ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S PLUME. 



An eagle's plume ! an eagle's plume ! 

How bravely hath it battled back 
The rolling clouds, the tempest's gloom. 

And swept the sun's meridian track. 
A thing of air, it proudly spurned 

The earth-born storm, the levin's glare, 
And like a thought, forever turned, 

In starward triumph, through the air. 

(55) 



56 AN EAGLE'S PLUME. 

An eagle's plume ! in wheeling flight, 

Swift as a clarion's note it rose 
From some untrodden mountain height, 

Of purple mists and shining snows. 
And far across the desert sky, 

It winnowed plains of azure dearth, 
And bore the camel -bird on high, 

A herald from the lowly earth. 

An eagle's plume ! the skies grew dark, 

But o'er the sea it fleetly sped, 
The sea where many a gallant barque, 

Before the driving tempest, fled. 
And through the zenith, blue and gold, 

It soared above the sulphurous cloud, 
While fast the rushing waters rolled, 

O'er stem and stern and swelling shroud. 

An eagle's plume ! an eagle's plume ! 

It burst through floods of fiery rain, 
When culverin's crash and cannon's boom 

Broke madly o'er the battle-plain : 
A starry standard floated there — 

Above its folds, it quivering hung, 
And loudly on the leaden air 

The deaf'ning shout of— " Victory" rung. 



57 



An eagle plume, from Freedom's wing — 

It skirts the hills of Northern Maine, 
And bathes in every golden spring, 

On California's mountain chain. 
It rises, like a glorious star, 

Where wild Atlantic surges roar, 
And flies, in swooping circles, far 

Along the lone Pacific shore. 

An eagle's plume ! would that my soul 

Might burst as chainless and as free, 
Above the stormy clouds, that roll 

Across this life's tempestuous sea. 
And oh ! when Life's dark goal is won, 

That it might spurn the vanquished tomb, 
And soar beyond the flaming sun 

An eagle's plume ! an eagle's plume ! 



A SISTEE'S EEVEEIE. 



Sad vesper bells ! how sweet your chimes, 
Thrilling my soul like poet's rhymes 

Sung low at tranquil even. 
The light of childhood round me plays, 
And memory muses o'er the days 

When earth seemed nearer heaven. 
In younger years I often strayed 
Where silver streams wreathed many a braid, 
And there subdued and still I stayed 

(58) 



59 



To hear their waters sighing ; 
I would the sounds my spirit craves, 
The dulcet sounds of rippling waves, 

May float to me when dying. 

E'en now I hear a gentle tone, 
So soft, so clear, 'tis music's own, 

It stills my panting bosom ! 
My sister's voice ! I've heard it ring 
In greenwood bowers when rosy spring 

With kisses oped the blossom. 

Then ere mild evening's rays were flown, 
Ere stars were o'er the blue arch strewn, 
How gay we culled young buds unblown 

To see them bloom the morrow ! 
Then Joy, the silver-cinctured maid, 
With lovely eyes ourhearts betrayed, 

And smiled away each sorrow. 

And when the kingly crest of morn 
Upon his dappled courser borne 
Shone o'er the dark dim mountains, 



60 



Like glad sunshine we sought for flowers, 
And lowest laughter from our bowers 
Plowed like the flow of fountains. 

Until the broad blue blaze of noon, 
Pond hours that fleeted all too soon 
Softly glided as a tune 

Heard when the moonbeams glimmer. 
Alas ! we were too young to know 
That fairest cheeks soon lose their glow, 

That brightest eyes grow dimmer. 

And when the summer's tardy hours 
Brought rolling clouds like moving towers, 
And swift, strong winds and slanting showers, 

And purple rainbows arching, 
"While falling drops soft echoes gave, 
We read old tales of heroes brave 

To fields of valor marching. 

How often o'er the lake we sailed, 

Ere twilight's varied colors paled, 

The still blue waters dyeing ! 



a sister's reverie. 61 

That lucid lake how clear it seemed, 



With undimm'd depths where white shells gleamed 
Like pearls in beauty vying 1 

My sister's face I I see it now, 

As when she stooped low o'er the bow, 

Her joyous eyes, her snowy brow, 

Her unlooped tresses flowing ! 
When strewn with lilies our fair boat 
Slow o'er the crystal wave did float 

With kindly zephyrs blowing. 

Blest morns, bright noons, sweet evening hours, 
And boat all garlanded with flowers, 

Again I'll see them never ! 
All, all are gone ; my sister sleeps, 
Death her dark-fringed eyelids keeps, 

Closed o'er her orbs forever ! 

Ah ! soon his touch will heal my breast 
Of sorrows, sighs, and sad unrest ; 
And then in funeral garments drest 

I'll cross the deep, cold river. 
But oh ! upon the other side 
I know that radiant angels glide, 

And golden sunbeams quiver. 
4 



I'M TETJE TO THEE. 



Though sometimes in my maddened mood, 

I seem to be untrue to thee, 
The silent spell of solitude 

Restores my fetters back to me. 
If when it wanders through the world, 

My spirit waves her broken wing, 
Back to its cell, with plumage furled, 

It trails, a sad and piteous thing. 
Though often seems to be forgot 

The hopes, which were so dear to me, 

Their clinging memories leave me not — 

I'm true to thee, I'm true to thee. 

(62) 



i'm true to thee. 63 

Though sometimes, in the festive throng, 

I catch a smile from happier hearts, 
Swift with the reign of mirth and song, 

The transient glow of joy departs. 
Believe me, like some temple lone, 

Which slowly trembles to decay, 
Yet on whose sacred altar stone, 

One faithful taper sheds her ray, 
Lo, so her light, does Memory cast, 

And I, a constant devotee, 
Still wander through that ruined Past — 

I'm true to thee, I'm true to thee* 



TO A DOVE. 



Thou timid bird, dost thou my chamber seek 
To free thee from the unrelenting hawk, 
With fiery glance intent upon thy heart, 
And talons bent to inflict his deadly wound ? 
Since young Aurora from her nightly couch, 
Sprang blushing, on his pinions fast and fierce, 
Thy cruel foe has followed thee in flight. 
What restless glare the fear of death has roused 
Within thy mild meek eyes, that in the dale 
Were wont to turn stedfast with patient love 

(64) 



TO A DOVE. I 

Upon thy constant mate ? Now rest thee, dove, 
Thou art rescued. The red blood from thy veins 
Shall never stain his beak nor thy torn limbs 
Appease the rage of thy fleet enemy. 

And yet it pleases me to note thy wings 
All tremulous in restless unison 
With rapid feats of thy affrighted heart ; 
For as the twilight's ling'ring shadows fall 
They move my soul to tenderness, and I 
In lieu of ladylove — to kiss her brow, 
And twine affection's arm around her waist, 
And view my image in her deep dark eye, — 
With fond caress and soothing words of peace 
Would comfort thee. 

Like thee, I too have fled 
With panting breast and weary nerves from foes 
Rapacious and remorseless. Raven Care, 
On sweeping pinions, and her eyes undimm'd 
With gloating on the forms of other slain, 
Flies darkly o'er my path, and very oft 
Misfortune like a condor flaps wide wings, 
And makes me crouch with shudders in their shade. 



66 TO A DOVE. 

I long have learned to hear when sorrow sighs, 

To feel when sorrow weeps and point to stars — 

Bright stars when sad ones thro' their gushing tears 

See only couds. And once in still midnight, 

An angel, sped from her celestial home, 

With silvery voice said these few words to me ; 

" 'Tis nobler far to twine the dewy rose 

Amid the orphan's pensive curls, than gird 

The wreath of laurel round the conqueror's brow I" 

Then rest, thou dove, upon my breast, and bend 

Thy orbs of love on me, as in old days 

In proud baronial halls thy kindred gazed, 

On maidens' alabaster shoulders perched, 

While troubadours sang gleeful songs, and knights, 

In crimson garments clad, did pledge full draughts 

In honor of bright eyes and ruby lips. 

Thou art most lovely, and the iris curves 

About thy placid pupils beautiful ! 

A fairer tint the Norman girl ne'er marked, 

When sitting in her bower in ancient time, 

A bird akin to thee the missive bore, 

Which told her that in lands beyond the seas, 

Her lover 'mong the warriors of Christ, 

Yet hurled with vig'rous arm the barbed lance 



TO A DOVE. 67 

Against the Moslem host, and on his breast 
Still wore the cross she gave in trusting-hour, 
Again for shady dells in the wild woods 
Unfold thy pinions gemm'd with purple tints, 
And summon with soft cooing notes thy mate. 
When golden-gilded Spring the forest roams, 
To hang her garlands on low-bending boughs, 
And laugh in concert with the sportive brook, 
Afar within the distant vale retired, 
Secure from all thy foes dwell thou in peace ! 
And when sad Autumn on his solemn harp 
His mournful echo wakes, join thou the strain, 
And murm'ring low thrill all the lonely wood 
With peans for the falling leaves — for flowers 
That wither in their bloom, and for the young 
Who journey then unto the grave ! 



THE SYCAMOEE TEEE. 



Dear are the trees of that broad old grove 

With their glossy boughs unto me, 
But the dearest of all the patriarchs there, 

Is the silvery sycamore tree. 
Not that its leaves are brighter than others — 

Not that it lifts it head so high, 
Though never a tree from the velvet vale, 

More beautiful rose to the sky. 
Not for its shining antlers, which seem 

Sprung from the white moon's quivering ray — 

Not for the throstle thrilling its boughs,, 

The livelong summer day : 

(68) 



THE SYCAMORE TREE. 69 

I love it not for the daisies there — 

Not for the snowy hawthorne hedge 
Whence the blue-eyed violets creep by night 

Upon the moonbeam's silver ledge, 
Nor yet for the soft cerulean stream, 

"Which mezzotints its graceful limbs, 
Joyously painting each dark green leaf, 

And teaching it tuneful hymns, 
But I dearly love that sycamore tree 

Because its swordlike branches wave 
In guardianship of a bright green mound, 

Which mourning mortals call the grave. 

By that rivulet's moss-bound banks we sat, 

Sporting one joyous summer eve ; 
Bathing our feet, and making white stones, 

The deep blue waters, gayly cleave. 
On the western hills, the god of day, 

Bathed in his own bright blood, sank down, 
Like a warrior chief, whose closing hours 

Add lustre to a laurel crown. 
For a flight of feathery darts he sent, 

Threading with gold the blue-eyed air, 
Piercing the clouds, flooding the forests, 

And tinging the curls of Youth's bright hair. 

4* 



70 THE SYCAMORE TREE. 

Thick fell those molten golden ringlets, 

Shading a fair cylindric throat ; 
Sweeping adown pale thoughtful temples, 

As starbeams o'er white marble float. 
He was the pride of our mother's heart, 

Angel-like with his azure eyes ; 
Slender and straight as a stripling palm 

Shooting to cloudless Austral skies. 
Life's airy lord passed through portals proud 

Those arching nostrils thin and white, 
And on the sheen of his broad brow curved 

Two silken lines of shadowed light. 

Never a sculptor's dream more lovely, 

Burst on the world in parian stone ; 
Never were brows of purer ivory 

The dark Ebony Angel's throne : 
For suddenly there across his features 

Shot a shiver of mortal pain, 
And his clust'ring locks sunk on my breast, 

Like daffodils in April rain. 
Twining my arms about him, gently 

I laid him on the soft green grass, 
Watching across his saint-like beauty, 

Swiftly the dark Destroyer pass. 



THE SYCAMORE TREE. 71 

Death's mystic bolts before had hurled, 

Never, above my youthful head, 
And like a birdling, serpent-charmed, I knelt, 

By the pale sufferer's lone death-bed. 
Writhing in agony — beautiful 

As rose-leaves in consuming flame, 
Nervously quivered his matchless lips, 

With the fierce throes rending his frame. 
Awe-struck I watched the viewless breath 

Through his fair throat grow faint and brief, 
And crystal spheres beading his temples, 

Like raindrops on the lilly's leaf. 

Motionless he lay, the pilgrim blood 

Perished before the simoon's power, 
And his pure young spirit upward passed 

Like odour from a broken flower. 
Tenderly I called his music name — 

In vain — he would not move or speak, 
The silken sentry of his heavenly eyes 

Mournfully slept on his pale cheek. 
11 Brother ! my brother, oh ! speak to me — " 

The night wind answered from the trees, 
And a fair young matron glided near, 

Noiseless as the soft summer breeze. 



72 THE SYCAMORE TREE. 

Golden-haired, divinely beautiful 

Slumbered her glorious idol there, 
But the halo of a youthful saint, 

Were those thick wreaths of burnished hair. 
Beautiful, like an early snow-drop 

G-leaming in Death's chill wintry halls ; 
What grief, oh ! pale Niobic mother, 

Snatched the glee from thy light foot-falls. 
Mournful as a willow-branch upon the turf 

She bowed in sad surprise, 
And silver tears bedewed the sleeper's face — 

Tears from our mother's mild brown eyes. 

Twilight also wept, and the planets 

High troubadours of heaven's empire, 
Marvelling paused to garner up the tones, 

Which sprang from her spirit's broken lyre. 
11 Carroll, sweet Carroll, my matchless boy, 

And dost thou dead or sleeping lie ?" 
And the purple dove, on the white hawthorne, 

With mournful carols gave reply. 
Warmly she wreathed her flower -like kisses, 

In fleeting garlands for his brow, 
Vainly adjuring the dark'ning skies, 

With many a thrilling vow. 



THE SYCAMORE TREE. 73 

Quiring seraphs hushed their sounding harps ; 

They, of divine empyrean birth, 
Paled, with amaze, at the sundered tie, 

And giant grief of atom earth. 
Dusky silence quavered on her throne, 

Pierced with a thousand arrowy sighs, 
The nightwind rushed from the harrowing scene 

Seeking the light of happier skies. 
And ocean heaved, when the winding stream 

Sang of its far green altar shore, 
Where lay pale Azrael's votive chaplet, 

By the proud priestal sycamore. 

He is buried there, he is buried there 

Beneath that reverend sycamore tree, 
And the blossoms rare, which burst from his grave, 

Are the first to woo the epicure bee, 
Through bursting buds the sunlight ripples 

Cheering the faithful crocus there, 
"Whose golden leaves on the silent mold 

Memorize his luminous hair. 
And oft with eve's purple feet, [ haunt, 

The hallowed arches of that grove, 
My heart and the brooklet echoing back, 

The sad wail of the cushat dove. 






74 THE SYCAMORE TREE. 

Stately forests, with their long moss hair, 

Wipe the feet of the Father Stream, 
When the orange blooms, like milkway stars, 

Under the dark magnolia's gleam. 
Perfume loads the mimosa's pink-plumed wing, 

Olive groves girt the Appenine, 
They tell of the myrtle's graceful bough, 

And they sing of the mountain pine ; 
The British oak wakes the slumbering lyre — 

The beacon palm by the sounding sea, 
But dearer than all of these to my heart, 

Is the silvery sycamore tree. 



THE FESTIVE HALL. 



They have wreathed the flowers of blue-brow'd June 

In garlands for the gay saloon, 
And the deep orchestra's pealing strains,; 

Link rosy hours with silver chains, 
And all is mirth in the festive hall, 

There glancing feet, like lute-tones fall, 
There bright eyes glisten and pale gold hair 

Like angel plumage floats the air, 
Play on, play on, with the dulcet flute, 

The archers, Youth and Beauty shoot 
From shining quivers of mirth and glee, 

The golden moments as they flee. 

(75) 



76 THE FESTIVE HALL. 

The cinctured zone, and the rose bound brow 

Of graceful forms, are gliding now 
In circling maze on the velvet floor, 

Like star-beams round some fairy shore. 
The cheek with tales of its beauty warm, 

And ardent manhood's stately form. 
The pleasant song, and the jest's wild flight — 

They fill the gay saloon to-night. 
No sad hearts mix with the happy throng 

To chase the night with mirth and song, 
The fair ! the free ! let them dance away, 

The joyous viol sweetly play. 

No sadness here ? yet methought a sigh 

Stole with the viol's music by. 
It comes again, is it yon fair girl 

Whose brow is sorrow's throne of pearl, 
'Tis she, there's trace of fearful care 

Beneath those braids of jewelled hair. 
The bright lip smiles, but she plays a part, 

Away, away, thou broken heart ! 
Not here, not here, come the sad and lone, 

Away, or breathe a gayer tone. 
Let the viol's strain float o'er the scene, 

And ring the merry tamborine. 



THE FESTIVE HALL. 77 

There standeth one, by the bright lamp-globe, 

Whose face wears not a festal robe, 
Whose raven locks, like a funeral pall, 

On brows of deadly pallor fall. 
His quivering lip strives in vain to hide, 

Unhealing pangs of wounded pride ; 
The heaving breast, and the moistened eye 

Betray that memory will not die. 
What dost thou here with thy griefs to-night ? 

Go, give them to the sad star-light. 
Eing the tamborine more loudly yet, 

And gaily sound the Castanet. 

The chandeliers, from the ceiling, shine 

On crimson waves of flowing wine, 
But guilty memories harrow the soul 

Of some who quaff the sparkling bowl. 
The whispered tale, and the envious sneer, 

Of evil spirits wander here ; 
And some young hearts of the bright band swell, 

With echoes of the funeral bell. 
Alas ! alas ! for the festive hall, 

Its music doth not cheerily fall, 
Let other strains to the throng be borne, 

Wind, minstrel, wind the silvery horn. 



78 THE FESTIVE HALL. 

They still look sad : like the amethyst, 

And golden hues from morning's mist, 
The joyous smiles from their brows have past, 

And left them pallid and aghast. 
Not yet^wane the stars of purple night, 

And fairy feet no more are light : 
The glowing youth seems a withered stem, 

And lovely eyes with tear-drops gem. 
Alas ! alas ! for the festive hall, 

Its/adiant throng are mourners all : 
Play on, play on for the rose-bound brow, 

But sweep the mournful harp-string now. 



I NEVER HAVE MET THEE. 



I never have met thee, I've wandered this world 
As shoots a lone fire-mist athwart the sad night, 

And I dreamed not the future's dark plumage was furl'd, 
O'er the sheen of a vision so beauteous and bright, 

Yet sometimes there came in my sorrowful hours, 
Strange glimpses of gladness, which brightened my 
heart 

As a stream swerbeth, swiftly, through ebony bowers, 

Or bright pinions poise o'er a pool and depart : 

I (79) 



80 I NEVER HAVE MET THEE. 

And often there murmured a musical tone 

A tone, like a smile, through my spirit, that swept, 
But I thought that the angels had found me alone, 

And sang a sweet song to the mourner, that wept. ■ 
I forgot that the soul had a twin at its birth, 

When it left the blue sky, for its pilgrimage here; 
And I thought that there was not a being on earth, 

Unto whom such a desolate heart could be dear. 

I never have met thee, but, wandering, I heard, 

Of a minstrel, whose numbers were gentle and low, 
And I wished that the wildwood would give me a bird, 

Whose carols as softly and sweetly might flow. 
Aye ! I quaffed the rich tide of thy magical lyre, 

Till thy thoughts, unto mine, so familiar became, 
That my spirit could only its breathings, respire, 

And burn with thy soul, in a heavenward flame. 



And then did I know, that the whispers, which stole 
Through my being, in life's early morning, were 
thine, 

That they claimed the dark altars, which rose in my soul, 
And charm'd the false world from my sorrowful shrine. 



I NEVER HAVE MET THEE. 81 

For the harp which thy fairy-like fingers swept o'er, 
Was heavenly, and blest with the same angel tone, 

"Which that mystical power so often before, 

Had rolled through my spirit, when sad and alone. 

I never have met thee, but daily I dream 

Of a moment, in which I shall look upon thee, 

When our parallel souls shall in one placid stream, 
Blend brightly their flow to Eternity's sea. 

It may be but a dream, for misfortune and Time 
Take delight in unlinking Love's soft silver chain, 

But I know that thy spirit, in yonder bright clime, 
Will seek its soft counterpart fondly again. 



IDYLHEIMAR. 



Dost thou hear me, Idylheimar— 
Through the star-light soft and free, 

Dost thou hear a pale -browed dreamer, 
Murmuring mournfully of thee? 

In this hour of silvery splendor, 
Art thou thrilling with my love ? 

Dost thou hear its breathings, tender 
As the carols of a dove ? 

(82) 



IDYLHEIMAB. 83 

There are waters round thy dwelling, 

Flowing purple bright and clear, 
Are they not forever swelling 

Loving legends in thine ear ? 

Do the golden clouds not cluster 
: Eound thy pathway more and more, 
• And delight thee with a lustre, 
Which they never had before ? 

Do the woods not wave above thee 

With a gentler whisper-tone ? 
Ah ! I taught' them how to love thee, ' 

When I wandered there alone. 

Though I fled that spot forever 

Yet I left my presence there, 
On the woods and on the river, 

And upon the crystal air. 

Yet, I bursty the chains, that bound me, 

And I wandered forth afar, 
But my spirit circles round thee, 

Like a tributary star. 



84 IDYLHEIMAK. 

Dost thou hear me, Idylheiraar ? 

Dost thou watch the world grow bright, 
"While the moon flings out her streamer, 

From the purple peaks of night. 

It is like the joy imparted, 

From that radiant soul of thine, 

When thy lifting eyelids darted, 
All their beauty under mine. 

Idylheimar I am raising 

Up the violet folds of space, 
And through starry vistas gazing, 
On the glory of thy face. 

I behold thee ! I behold thee ! 

Idylheimar dark and bright, 
And the rolling planets fold thee, 

With their silver plumes of light. 

At thy feet the waves are dashing — 

But I see another there, 
With a bridal chaplet flashing 

Through the darkness of her hair. 



IDYLHEIMAR. 85 

And thy proud dark eyes are filling, 

With the freight of joyous tears ; 
For her voice is through thee thrilling, 

Like a flight of silver spears. 

All thy being seems to quiver, 

Like the mighty throbbing sea, 
Where thine own beloved river, 

Pours its sparkling tide of glee. 

And alas ! a wreck is lying 

By that river, rent apart, 
And the winds are o'er it sighing — 

'Tis the shadow of my heart. 



DANIEL WEBSTEK. 



Toll, toll, a requiem knell, 

Thou bell-shaped sky ! 
The sad autumnal winds 

Bear a great soul by. 
And the towering angel flies 

Erom the broadly branching tree. 
Whence so long his flaming sword 

Elashed defiance on the sea. 

Roll, roll a thunder peal, 

Like the boom of minute guns; 
(86) 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 87 

A continent is wailing 

For the brightest of her sons. 
Nor alone she sheds her tears, 

For the world and Freedom sigh, 
Toll, toll a requiem knell, 

Thou bell-shaped sky ! 

Sob, sob, thou ocean wild, 

On the lone, lone shore I 
That bugle voice will float 

On the deep no more. 
For the " god-like" soul has fled 

From the grand majestic form, 
"Which chaunted Union hymns, 

Through the raging ocean storm. 
No more that falcon eye, 

Lights the Senate of the Free, 
But a silent marble shaft 

Gleams beside the rolling sea. 
And the solemn granite-hills 

Mourn around it evermore, 
Sob, sob thou ocean wild, 

On the lone, lone shore ! 



88 DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Wail, wail a coronach, 

From deep toned wind ! 
Through the temple where the dust 

Of Genius is enshrined, 
Wail along its Northern hills, 

Through the everlasting pine, 
And beside the sea-laved sands, 

Of the Californian mine. 
Proud Orion's girdling orbs 

Through November's arches soar, 
But Columbia's starry triad 

Belts her glorious zone no more. 
And her last and brightest star 

Hath in midnight gloom declined, 
Wail, wail a coronach 

From deep-toned wind ! 

Weep, weep, repentant tears, 

Thou ingrate land ! 
Crown with tears the unwreathed brows 

Of that bright star-band. 
Weep, Oh ! weep, that freedom twined 

No rich coronals for them, 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 89 



Who have clasped Columbia's brow 

With a fadeless diadem. 
They have won an amaranth wreath 

From the fullness of the sky, 
And renown shall guard their graves, 

With a proud and sleepless eye, 
But their like shall never claim 

Civic chaplets at thy hand, 
Weep, weep, repentant tears, 
Thou ingrato land ! 



TO ONE ON EAKTH. 



I did love thee with that most holy love 

Which blessed angels feel, and ev'ry morn 

My spirit turned to thee, as doth the rose 

To greet the rising sun. Thou wast a part 

Of my whole life. In solemn night, when stars 

Shone soft on me, I likened their bright beams 

Unto the light of thy dark eyes. Whene'er 

Upon my sight the moon arose, 

My full soul ever swelled with the glad thought 

That thou didst love me well. I was no more 

Alone in this sad world, a lonely spar 

(90) 



TO ONE ON EARTH. 91 

On heaving waters cast. My love for thee, 
Exhaustless, broad, and deep, and full, became 
As India's fabled stream, whose current bore . . 
Sweet flowers forever on, while far below 
Transparent opals and resplendent pearls 
In purest brightness gleamed. 

Oh ! fervent bards 
Of purer joys ne'er dreamed, than I did claim 
In my fond musings at that quiet hour, 
For thoughts of love so fit, when radiant ones 
Mado melancholy by excessive bliss, 
Do spread the crimson pall of eve. To mo 
Thou wast as Hesp'rus to the sailor tossed 
Upon far-distant seas, love's harbinger, 
And emblem of bright days to come. Like God's 
Own gorgeous bow of promise arched upon 
The lucid canvass of a summer shower, 
Thou wast my sign of joy. The noon-tide air 
Caressed my cheek, and murmur'd e'er thy namo. 
The morning's breath seemed laden with thy sighs, 
And zephyrs, journeying from sweet perfumed isles 
In ocean's trackless waste, did oft times pause 
To hear my message, and to waft it on 



92 TO ONE ON EAETH. 

Unto thy ears. I heard thy joyous tones 
"Whene'er low murmuring brooks sang songs of glee, 
And thy own laugh to me seemed softly borne 
With ev'ry fountain's tuneful note. Thou wast 
The link that bound me unto purest thoughts 
And highest aims, the talismanic wand 
That waved away the sullen mists of gloom, 
And bade bright stars arise. 

I little thought, 
When trembled on the night's still air thy vows 
And low responses, when thy beaming eyes 
Love-lit seemed emblems of angelic truth, 
When our fond hearts, their mutual throbbings timid, 
As with soft clasping hands our pulses thrilled 
In unison, that thou couldst thrust my love, 
My holy love away, as wanton girls 
Vain baubles cast aside, and seek again 
For newer toys. 

I knew that thou wast gay 
As some wild bird of soft Ausonian clime, 
But 'neath that outward gayety I thought 
A well of deep affection lay, whenco I 



TO ONE ON EARTH. 93 

Full cups of bliss might draw. From all the bright 

And beauteous things of earth — from star-lit streams, 

From slanting trees, from dew empurpled vales, 

From glowing skies, from rainbows, and from flowers, 

I knew thy spirit drew rich sustenance. 

But I did think that, sated with such sweets,: 

My dove of gentlest wing would speed away, 

And nestling on my breast would murmur tones, 

Delicious tones of love. "Within the hall 

Of festive joy, within the gay saloon, 

Thronged with the beautiful and brave, I knew 

That thou couldst float like Auster wandering 

Amid a bed of roses, like a cloud 

Of glorious tinge at even's witching hour; 

But oh 1 I thought that hushed to deepest awe 

Thy heart would be, as if the eye of God 

Beheld the deed, as if his own car heard 

The solemn words, when thou didst plight to mo 

The maiden troth and seal it with thy kiss. 

Before I gazed entranced within the heaven 

Of thy dark eyes, unto the touch of lovo 

My heart had never opened its sealed lid. 

But thou, false one, its fairest flowers hast culled. 
5* 



94 TO ONE ON EARTH. 

Each one with first love's beaming dew-drops bathed ; 

And now, all withered, robbed of their perfume, 

Thou send'st them back to me. A woman thou, 

And heap such desolation on the soul ! 

Thy coldness hath congealed my loving heart, 

And o'er my firmament of love hung wide 

A pall of sable hue. Well ! be it so, 

The world hath grief, and I must bear my part. 

The oak tree never bends, and I must learn 

To stand erect and firm, though round my feet 

My hopes their sad plumes trail. 

Thou knowest not 
How desolate my throbbing heart will be 
In coming years. The future, spreading out, 
Seems even as the long-extended waves 
Unto the drowning mariner, a waste 
Of waters, when the restless billows roll. 
And yet not one reproach I cast on thee, 
That thou hast made my life so sad. E'en now, 
When grief sits on my soul, the sceptered King, 
I pray for thee perpetual joy. I would 
That some kind angel from high heaven would come, 
And round thy swan-like neck phylacteries place, 



TO ONE ON EARTH. 95 

To Bhield thee from all harm. I would that thou 
Of that perennial font of youth couldst drink, 
That healthiest hues might ever tinge thy cheek, 
That e'er thine eyes in limpid light might gleam, 
And e'er thy voice its liquid notes possess, 
And thy soft laugh might float upon the air 
As dulcet sound of vesper bell. For thee 
Such joy I pray, as they fore'er possess, ; 
Who in the blest Elysian fields do smile 
Their happy hours away. 

Ah ! I must stoop 
To bear the burden of my fate. "With heart 
All scarred as thunder blasted pine, I tread 
Amid my fellows to the yawning grave. 
Yet I can smile, can wreath the trembling lip 
In mirthful glee, assume the haughty step 
Of one who feels no vulture's horny beak 
Upon the heart-strings feeding. Although love 
May dwell not in the temple of my heart, 
Another god may build him altars there, 
And fire them with eternal flame. His voice 
May lead me to no vine-encircled bowers, 
Where softest joys abide. Ambition ow T ns 



96 TO ONE ON EARTH. 

No sunny realms, where perfumed roses grow, 
But wide and barren heaths, where oftentimes 
The traveler's heart grows faint, and sadly pinos 
For one sweet word of love, albeit his cheek 
No trace of sorrow bears, and lordly scorn 
Doth quell the rising tear ere it escapes, 
And stamps upon the mouth its bitter smile. 
'Tis true, when suppliant at ambition's throne 
1 kneel, my swelling bosom may not heave 
With eager bliss, nor sparkling tears of joy 
Beneath my drooping eye-lids gush, but pride 
Will send a thrilling pulse through me, and hope 
A cloudless morn display, when on my brow 
Triumphal garlands shall be twined. 

Yet if 
I climb the famed Parnassian mount, and strive 
With lyre in hand, exultant strains to sound, 
The recollection of my slighted love 
Will so oppress my soul, that plaintive notes 
And dirges sad, in place of victor songs, 
Will tremble on its chords. Yea, if I range 
'Mid Helicon's symmetric groves, where 6tands 
The tuneful Orpheus' counterpart, where rise 



TO ONE ON EAKTH. 97 

In virgin witness, with fair garlands crowned, 

The statues of the immortal Nine, I know 

Each stately column, as if animate 

And conscious of my love, will shape itself 

An image of thy glorious form, and soft 

Will beckon unto me. And when I kneel 

To quaff sweet draughts from fountains gushing there, 

As erst it smiled on me, thy loving face 

Will gleam amid the waves, until I weep 

In very woe, that memory ne'er will die. 



THE LADY OF AYR 



When Spring waved her sceptre o'er mountain and 
plain, 

And twined in the valley her garlands so fair, 
The Baron of Lorni assembled his train 

To woo in her palace the Lady of Ayr. 
He mounted his steed, it was black as the night, 

And proud as the rider it chafed him to bear ; 

Beside the bold Baron his banner gleamed bright, ' 

And hope led the way to the Lady of Ayr. 

(98)* 



THE LADY OF AYR. 99 

He rode through the forest all stately and slow, 

But heard not the carol of birds in their bowers; 
He saw not wild rose buds in morning's red glow 

Unfold their young petals and burst into flowers. 
He thought of the heiress — her lands and her gold — 

And dreamed of his rapture her riches to share ; 
Ah ! Baron of Lorni, thy breast is too cold 

To pillow the head of the Lady of Ayr ! 

When hues of the even were red in the west, 

And myrtles were blushing in twilight's last ray; 
When leaves of the forest all fluttered to rest, 

And the breeze o'er the valley died fitful away — ' 
The Baron looked upward, those old towers he knew, 

Where a banner of silk waved its folds bright and 
fair, 
And on his good bugle such loud blasts he blew 

They thrilled the wide halls of the Lady of Ayr. 

" I wis," quoth the Baron, " warm blushes will rise 
When heareth the lady the signal I blew, 

And glances of pleasure glow soft in her eyes, 
Eor the Baron of Lorni is coming to woo." 



100 THE LADY OF AYR. 

" I wis" quoth the Baron, " ere morning may beam, 
To gild with its splendor this palace so fair, 

I shall see o'er these towers my own banner stream, 
And I be the lord of the broad lands of Ayr." 



He sprang from his charger, a page caught the rein, 

The warders threw open their gates at his call ; ; 
With mien like a prince's he led on his train, 

And the clang of the gold spurs resounds in the 
hall. 
Why pauses the Baron, why blanches his cheek, 

Why greets the gay scene with so vacant a stare ? 
A suitor so noble her presence may seek, 

And lead to the dance the gay Lady of Ayr ! 



Proud Baron, behold him whose eye is so bright, 

And who lingers with rapture the heiress upon \ 
The pearls on his baldric were liquid with light, 

As dew on the meadow when rises the sun. 
Why trembles her hand in his welcome embrace, 

Why kindle her orbs with the lustre they wear ? 
Who nurtures the rose-buds that bloom in her face, 

Who clasps the warm waist of the heiress of Ayr ? 



THE LADY OF AYR. 101 

* Tis Arthur thy cousin, the bold troubadour, 

The orphan thy anger expelled from thy hall, 
To wander an exile upon a far shore, 

Or in the dread battle a soldier to fall. 
Ah ! Baron of Lorni, no more will ho roam 

In sorrow, the ills of the cold world to dare ! 
He sings his wild songs in his own palaco home, 

And he is tho lord of the Lady of Ayr ! 

I wonder, proud Baron, did blushes arise, 

When heard the sweet lady the signal you blew ? 
Did glances of pleasure glow soft in her eyes 

That the Baron of Lorni came hither to woo ? 
I wonder, proud Baron, when morning may beam, 

To gild with its splendor this palace so fair, 
Wilt see o'er the towers thy own banner stream, 

And wilt thou be lord of the broad lands of Ayr ? 



I EEMEMBEE HER WELL. 



I remember her well, I remember her well, 

With the deep azure eye, that so gently beguiled ; 

I remember her tones, and the magical spell, 

That flashed from her lip, when it joyously smiled. 

I remember the grace of that planet like brow, 
How it mantled the soul with its beautiful light, 

And the brown rippling tresses, that shaded its glow 

Like the pale amber clouds round the queen of the 

night. 

(102) 






I BEMEMBEB HEB WELL. 103 

I remember her laugh, like the voice of a bird, 

When it rings through the forest, unfettered and free; 

In the morn, on the mountain, its echoes were heard, 
And the valley, at evening, repeated its glee. 

Yes, her voice was as fresh as the wind, that imparts 
Eich aroma from Araby 's gardens of myrrh ; 

And her heart was the lightest of all the young hearts, 
That carolled the chorus of childhood with her. 

I seem to be gazing once more on her face, 

"Where the eloquent blood spoke a language divine,* 

Like the warm blushing tint on a delicate vase, 
When 'tis suddenly filled with bright currents of wine. 

But those were the days, when the summers were green 
And winter looked fair as a marble -browed maid,. 

When the Spring on the hills was eternally seen, 
And x\utumn her farewell forever delayed. 



I'LL HASTEN TO THEE, LOVE. 



When twilight's soft blushes have crimsoned the sky, 
And roses their petals till morning conceal ; 

When swells thy young bosom and beams thy dark eye 
With rapture too deep for the tongue to reveal, 

If then thou but breathest a fond wish for me, 

I'll hasten to thee, love, I'll hasten to thee ! 

When moonbeams are floating upon the clear stream, 
Whose banks in our childhood we decked with gay 
flowers ; 

(104) 



I'LL HASTEN TO THEE, LOVE. 105 

When by its green margin thy dear tresses gleam 

As brightly as shone they in life's younger hours, 
If lingers thy memory then upon me, 
I'll hasten to thee, love, I'll hasten to thee ! 

When pleasure illumines her rose tinted hall, 

And summons her daughters with laughter and 
song, 

If then o'er thy spirit pale shadows should fall, 
And thoughts of thy lover thy gentle heart throng, 

I'll know thou art sighing tho' distant I be, 

I'll hasten to thee, love, I'll hasten to thee I 

When phantoms of grief find their homes in thy breast, 
And golden-haired joys on their white wings have 
flown; 

When roams thy sad soul down the aisle of unrest, 
As wanders a pilgrim all weary and lone — 

In sorrow as sunshine, in gloom as in glee, 

I'll hasten to thee, love, I'll hasten to thee ! 



THEN LINGEE THOU ZEPHYR 



Fair maidens are wreathing her dark waving hair, 
And 'raid its bright folds they entwine the white rose 
Her sweet sighs of transport fall soft on the air, 
And the swells of her bosom its rapture disclose. 
Then linger, thou Zephyr, that kisseth my brow, 
Nor tell how lonely my spirit is now. 

Her bridegroom is breathing the low notes of love, 
And clasps her fair hand in his gentle embrace : 
Her eyes meet her lover's like those of the dove, 
And crimson-hued blushes glow warm on her face. 
Then linger, &c. &c. 

106) 



THEN LINGER THOtT ZEPHYR. 107 

The festival palace where sports the gay band 
Is thrilled with rich music that gayly floats there : 
And pleasure the sentinel waves his white wand 
To drive from his portals the phantoms of care. 
Then linger, thou Zephyr, &c. &c. 



"Why show her life's flowers bereft of perfume, 
Why point to dark clouds that forever are nigh ; 
When buds of delight in her bosom have bloom, 
And rainbows of beauty arch brightly her sky ? , 
Then linger, thou Zephyr, &i. " 



THE CLOUDS ON THE MOUNTAIN. 



On the brow of the mountain the gloomy clouds throng, 
And darkly their shadows roll over the vale ; 
The Lark folds her pinions, and hushes her song, 
In silence awaiting the close of the gale. 

When the rays of the sun glow softly again, 

Those clouds will be melted, those shadows will flee ; 

The lark from her wet wing will scatter the rain, 

And soar to the heaven in spirals of glee. 

(108) 



THE CLOUDS ON THE MOUNTAIN. 109 

Thy frowns of displeasure have darkened my soul, 
In the hall of my spirit the pale shadows move ; 
And from its mute lyre no music will roll, 
Till gleam on its clouds the sunbeams of love. 

"When the rose of affection blooms sweetly once more, 
And the light of thy smile shines brightly on me 
My heart like the lark on glad pinions will soar, 
And speed to thy bosom to warble for thee I 

6 



WE MET TO PART FOREVER. 



We met — 'twas where her silver chain, 

The midnight moon was weaving, 
Across a darkly, rolling plain, 

Of waters wildly heaving. 
Our hearts were not more still and calm, 

Than was that roaring river, 
For we had sung Life's morning Psalm, — 

And met—to part forever. 

There waved a beauteous forest sea, 

Beneath that moon's illuming ; 

But sorrow, in our sandal-tree, 

Her axe had been performing. *■ ^ 

(110) 



WE MET TO PAKT FOREVER. Ill 

And sadly gazed we on the grove, 

Which girt that foaming river, 
And mourned to think with all our love, 

We met to part forever. 

The nightingale flung on the breeze 

The richest vocal treasure, 
But grief, on Life's low minor keys, 

Had struck a mournful measure ; 
And coldly fell the night-bird's song, 

He could but weep and shiver 
To find our broken hearts so strong 

To meet and part forever. 

The dew shone on tho blooming vines, 

Our sylvan bower that shaded ; 
But in our spirit shattered shrines 

The rose of love was faded. 
Youth's golden dew r , which bathed it erst, 

Again would bathe it, never ! 
And only blighting tear-drops burst, 

To meet and part forever. 



112 WE MET TO PART FOREVER. 

The archer stars sat on the sky, 
Their silver arrows glancing, 

Against each wave, that shouted by, 
To ocean's waste advancing ; 

But we had known the poisoned darts, 
Prom Grief's exhaustless quiver ; 

They rankled in the writhing hearts 

,'... Now met to part forever. 

'Tis many a year since there we met, 

And sorrows have I numbered, 
But bittered brine hath never yet, 

My faded cheek encumbered. 
And memory, like a guilty sprite, 

Still haunts that lonely river, 
When in the morn's unclouded light, 

"We met to part forever. 



IMPROMPTU PROPHETIC. 



I sigh to gaze upon thy brow, 

As joyous smiles enwreath it, 
And think what bitter tears will ilow 

From those blue eyes beneath it. 
I sigh to think what storms will whirl 

Above sueh sunny tresses, 
Aud sorrows number every curl, 

Which now thy cheek caresses. 

Thou art so far above this earth 
That clouds will round thee cluster, 

As lightnings gild, in seeming mirth, 
Yon print of glittering lustre. 

(113) 



114 IMPROMPTU PROPHETIC. 

Thy sunny lash conceals a look 
Of tears, beneath it, sleeping, 

As summer vines disguise the brook, 
Which was but made for weeping. 

Thou hast the dreaming air of one 

To trust the starry vision, 
Which flies before the morning sun, 

With smiles of bright derision. 
I would that I could teach thee how 

To shun thy young heart's blighting, 
But ah ! 'tis writ upon thy brow — 

I only read the writing. 



THE BONG OF EO 



Sit Medea fcrx, umctaque, flchilis Juno 
Pexfidufl Ixion, Io v»gatv\si\% Orestes, 

Hot. Epist. ad Pis. 123-4. 

Cruel Juno ! heartless empress ! 

With my weary soul I pray, 
Cease thy torture one brief moment; 

Oh, thy vengeful anger stay ! 
For mine eyes arc blind with weeping, 

And my strength is worn away ; 

Bad unrest is all my portion, 

Thro 1 the lonely night and dav. 
(115) 



116 THE SONG OF 10. 

Eestless willows cease their waving, 

When wild Auster sleepeth low ; 
Waves of ocean cease their motion, 

And a tranquil quiet know ; 
Even shifting clouds in heaven, 

At still noon-tide linger slow — 
Over mountains and their valleys, 

Must I ever wander so ? 

Dew-drops speeding from high heaven, 

Soft on budding flowerets fall ; 
Lithsome straying leaves of autumn 

To their resting-places crawl ; 
Fitful lightning claims a dwelling, 

Nestling in its cloudy hall ; 
Like them let me find a haven ; 

Juno ! hear my moaning call. 

Ah ! celestial maids are smiling, 
In their blissful home above ; 

Singing sweetly to each other 
Cantos redolent of love. 



THE SONG OF 10. 117 

"Will no gentle voice of mercy 

Soothing fall upon my ear ? 
Passing days but mark my sorrow, 

Still no cheering tone I hear. 

Let me linger — oh, kind Juno ! 

Where dark cypress shades entreat; 
In yon brooklet bubbling by it 

Let mo cool my blistered feet. 
Let mo bathe my burning forehead 

In thy limpid, liquid stream ; 
On this green-sward let me droop me, 

And forget my woes in dream. 

As I pass majestic lili< 

Bow I long to pause awhile ! 
By young rose-buds I would dally, 

Note them Ope their lips to smile. 

Oil ! to slumber in this meadow, 

Where kind Terra's couch is spread; 

Where the oak, to shade it kindly, 

Boweth low his lofty head ! 
6* 



118 THE SONG OF 10. 

Ever onward, ever onward ! 

Will my roamings never cease, 
Tho' the verdant lawn invites me, 

Saying, " Io rest in peace !" 
Tho' melodious birds do woo me, 

With most melancholy song ; 
Tho' my heart doth bleed for quiet, 

As I journey lone along ! 

Ah ! my dreary, dreary future 

As a boundless ocean seems ; 
And my sky is robed in sable, 

Whence no star of mercy beams ! 
Gloomy phantoms flit before me, 

Dusky robes behind them trail ; 
Mercy, Juno ! oh, queen Juno ! 

Hear my agonizing wail ! 

Lo ! poor Io, vainly mourning, 

Is the human heart portrayed ; 
Throbbing restless, throbbing restless, 

To and fro forever swayed. 
Sad pulsations thrill it ever, 

Floating on its sea of life ; 
Scorching sunbeams parch its fibers, 

O'er it shriek shrill winds in strife. 



THE SONG OF 10- 119 

Palpitating, palpitating, 

Tranquil joy it never know? ; 
Undulating, undulating, 

As the stormy tempest blows ; 
Piercing lightning o'er it gleameth, 

Solemn thunders round it roar, 
And above it, sea-birds, plaining, 

Wild and wailing dirges pour. 



THE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 



This night my heart is very, very sad, 
And o'er my soul's harp breathe with deeper tone 
The wailing winds of grief. From ancient seers, 
From prophets wise, short respite from my thought! 
I may not hope to win. They o'er me come, 
Not as the tempest sweeps the darkened main 
With force resistless and with horrid rage, 
But soberly, oppressively, as fall 
Dead autumn-leaves upon a maiden's grave, 
Or as the shrouding snow-flakes slowly sink 
On pilgrim breathing his last trem'lous sigh 

(120) 



THE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 121 

Alono on Alpine peak. Adown the aisle 

Where restless roams my most unquiet soul, 

My sorrows burn as doth the mocking torch 

"Within a funeral vault. With listless eye 

I BCSB ID vain their pages genius lit, 

To whom with lavish hand the muse hath given 

The power to sing. 

His potent lyro in vain 
Sonorous Homer sounds. I hear his strains, 
And know them grand as ocean's mightiest waves; 
But not as in my younger halcyOD days, 
In warlike armor clad come trooping on 
The heroes whom he sang. In Bqnadrons arm'd 
With martial musio cheered they do not move, 
Not with proud banners streaming in tho wind 
But sadly walks each hero and alone, 
.With drooping head and down-cast grieving * ■ 
As if lamenting him of valorous deeds 

Whose glory was the death of noble men. 
Lo ! where the great Achillea comes, and bears 
No mail-coat on his form. Xor burnished shield 
Bis left arm clasps, nor grasps within his right 
The threatening spear, as when brave Hector looked 



122 THE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 

And knew his coming doom; but cypress leaves 
Are in his hand ; and pensively he kneels 
•Beside the buried Trojan's tomb, and weeps 
As Priam's self would weep. 

On Eome's imperial bard to gladden me 

With liquid lyric lays of Tiber's stream, 

Of famed Bandusia's fount of foaming seas 

That proudly bore Augustus' galleys on 

To conquest and to glory, of the fauns 

"Who made wild merriment in cooling groves, 

Of woodland nymphs, who danced on verdant lawn 

In artless glee, or by th' observant stream 

Their lustrous tresses wove, and saw sweet forms 

The grateful waters mirrored back, in vain, 

In vain with pleading voice I call. Tho' rich 

Beyond compare in ores of molten gold, 

The gen'rous bard hath not the glowing pearl 

"Whose rays I covet most. 

In vain I list 
To Milton's tuneful notes, and strive to feel 
Small portion of that rapt'rous ardent fire 






TIIE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 123 

That thrilled his heart, and filled his mighty mind 

With visions of seraphic grace. Afl wept 

The blind old monarch-bard, when strove in vain 

To note Aurora speeding o'er the hills 

Ilia sightless eyes to darkness doom'd, e'er thus 

This very night I weep to know and feel 

That Heaven's own favor'd one no magic hath 

To soothe this lonely hour. 



Could I with youth's invigorating step 
On Scotia's heather tread, and summon op 

From his reuicmberM grave th* immortal Burns, 
And bid him sing his glorious BOngfl to me, 
His honeyed words my spirit could not woo 
From her despondency. In other hours 
My heart has echoed to his WondroUfl lays, 
And in its deepest cell his number- kept. 
In other days [Ve started at his call, 

And as a little child obeyed his will. 
In other years I've followed every Btep, 
Where walked the poet caroling his verse 
Behind the moving plow, and charmed the air, 
Or when at twilight 'neath the hawthorn's bloon 



124 THE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 

On " Highland Mary's" cheek he rested his, 
And poured his melting music in her ear. 
How oft by Logan's lovely stream, or by 
Clear Afton's crystal wave I've knelt me down 
A mute adorer ! But alas ! this night 
The veil of grief that shrouds my shrinking soul 
His silver w T and, alas, may not remove. 

Of gayer moments, when my heart did leap 

In wantonness as leaps the sportive fawn, 

I now remember not. Bright oases, 

Where erst I dreamed the golden hours away 

No more rise tranquil to my raptur'd view : 

But moving sad and slow, I sigh to see 

Man caravans in melancholy march 

Upon the desert waste, while o'er the host 

Of camels worn with toil, and feeble men, 

In pale derision smiles the moon. In vain 

I call on reason to assume her crown, 

And with her sceptre wave these gloom-born thoughts 

Prom her baronial realms. My plaining voice 

She doth not heed, but leaves me for this hour 

To the companionship of my lone thoughts. 

Within the hall where riant Fancy's throne 

Was wont to gleam in gorgeous hue, where once 



THE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 125 

In purple robes attired the fairy queen 
Her airy revels held, if e'er I turn 
My sad dejected look I stand appalled 
At the unusual scene. No sylph-like forms 
Within the desolated chamber move 
To witching strains from lyre and timbrel gay. 
To chant their airs in more congenial homes 
The transient troubadours have sped away ; 
And harpers old with stately flowing beards 
Most solemn gaze do bend on me, and from 
Their sounding harps of ancient ebon made, 
Fantastic carved with many a quaint device, 
The saddest preans pour. 

The happy days 
The dreamy nights that blessed my younger years, 
The flute-like tones of truthful boyhood's voice, 
And the soft laugh of her I loved so well, 
Are now as dim and waning lights that glido 
A moment o'er the dark morass — and die. 
This night fond raem'ry doth neglect her tasks, 
And will not list to sorrow's sighs, nor note 
The single tear slow trickling down my cheek. 
The parchment where she traced the record fair 



126 THE MELANCHOLY HOUK. 

Of cheerful hours, before mine eager sight 
She will not uow unroll. Unto the spots, 
The pleasant, silvery sunlit spots, where oft 
I basked in ease, r ere lusty manhood heard 
The swelling roar from life's wide battle-field, 
And felt his muscles hardening for the fray, 
She will not guide my step. Beside the brook, 
"Whose silent waves did hear the low-breathed vows 
I told a maiden once within the bower 
Where our twin spirits held their glad commune, 
And plighted love and truth, along the path, 
The winding path that sought the shady grove, 
Where oft at eve an angel walked with me, 
Eeluctant memory will not point the way. 
And when on bended knee I weeping plead 
For smallest flower of that rose-tinted crown 
I wove in days when visions thronged on me, 
And when I wove heard music in the air, 
She scatters from her hand its withered leaves, 
And turns away. 



She seems to-night disguised, 
And wears such aspect that I know Jier not. 
She is no longer beautiful. The form 



THE MELANCHOLY HOUR. 127 

Hath laid aside its customed queenly grace. 
She hath unsexed herself, and lo ! she stands 
In grave attire a sombre Mercury now 
Before the portals of my saddened soul, 
And ushers in its ivy-curtained rooms 
The pale and sheeted phantoms of my woes ! 



THE LOST 



IIow kind they are to come, in sleep, 
When earth is wrapped in silence deep, 
And soothe, with presence soft and mild, 
The weary temples of their child. 

How good to leave unswept the wires 

Of gold, which grace their angel lyres, 

And breathe love-burthened lays divine 

Across a heart so sad as mine. 

(128) 



THE LOST. 129 

It is no dream. — I see them now, 
Above my couch, they gently bow, 
As soft in childhood's morn, they came, 
When illness touched my tender frame. 

They look not old, (thin veins are rife, 
With gushings from the fount of life) 
But young, as when they joined their lot 
In love, which death divided not. 

Their locks are thrown as if to hide 
The scarce seen wings on either side, 
For fear I might not recognizo 
Such shining wanderers from the skies. 

But memory never could forget 
Those white arched feet so firmly set, 
Which seemed to childhood wondering mien 
Tit only for a Fairy Queen. 

'Tis she ! beneath its dark brown hair, 
No other brow could shine so fair, 
And with the soul's pure radiance grace 
That soft divinely Grecian face. 



130 THE LOST. 

That chiselled head — that clear profile, 
That living intellectual smile, 
Those soft blue eyes, — that voice which stirs 
My inmost soul, they all are hers. 

" My child," what tones of love profound 
[Earth hath nbt now so sweet a sound] 
" Let grief no more corrode thy breast 
And break thy sainted mother's rest. 

11 My stricken darling ! mourn her not, 
" JBut be contented with thy lot ; 
" Let all thy life be good and pure, 
" And teach thy spirit to endure." 

And who is he, with visage bland, 
"Who holds in his, her slender hand ? 
A mien so free, a heart so true, 
This clouded earth sure never knew. 



Ah ! memory were more faithless yet, 
Could she that hallowed form forget, 
That mild benignant brow, which smiled, 
Such constant kindness on his child. 



THE LOST. 131 

He speaks, and to each tender tone 
My soul returns impassioned moan, 
"While shades of bright but fleeting years, 
Are mirrored darkly in my tears. 

" My daughter," — oh ! that thrilling word, 
My heart is quivering like a bird 
Through which, while breasting stormy skies 
The archer's gilded arrow flies. 

" My daughter," — ah ! a thick'ning flight 
Of sobs break through the bars of night 
While all its floods of tear-drops roll, 
Upheaving from my billowy soul. 

They stain the loving hands which now 
Would calm the aching of my brow, 
While fast thoir shining features grow 
O'ershadowed with terrcstial woe. 



They cannot brook so sad a sight, 
On wavering wings they take their flight, 
They seek again the Eternal throne, 
And I am left alone — alone. 



TO A BELOVED POET. 



As Auster breathing on the stately palm, 

That upward soars, like the thoughts of pious men, 

Its pliant leaves low-drooping in the calm, 1 ! 
Doth wake to melody — so thou again^ 

The long-mute chords of my lone heart hast made 
To quiver with such strains of music rare 

That never from my memory they may fade, 

But, blessing me, must always linger there. 
(132) 



TO A BELOVED POET. 133 

Oh poet, whence to thee this boon ? Wast thou 

With Ariadne on the Naxian isle, 
When sorrow's plumes cast shadows on her brow, 

And grief disrobed her lips of their sweet smile ? 
Did thy sad spirit hear her plaintivo moan, 

Her pensive sighs, with ocean's music blent ? 
Mcthinks unto thy sweet, heart-thrilling tone 

Her dirge some portion of its power hath lent 1 

Wast thou in Ida's leaf-embowered grove, 

With bold Anchiscs, when tho Goddess came, 
Fair ocean-born all radiant in her love, 

Who lights on altars fit the hallowod flamo ? 
Didst note her luscious lips how dewy seemed, 

How on her neck warm auburn ringlets fell, 
Her passion-fed entrancing eyes how gleamed, 

How gently rose her bosom's billowy swell ? 



Her pearl-whito rounded arms, her flexile waist 
With wooing cestus girt in wanton fold, 

Soft, lovely limbs, 'neath flowing garments traced, 
Symmetrical, voluptuous in their mould ; 



134 TO A BELOVED POET. 

These beauties seen unto thy verse impart, 
Oh ! Venus-favored bard, its melting flow, 

To fondest rapture moving every heart, • 
In throbbing bosoms kindling up a glow. * 

Long years ago, when golden moonbeams played 

In liquid showers on Ilium's citadel, 
Ere vengeful Greeks their armies had arrayed 

Or wild Cassandra shrieked its funeral knell — 
"Wast thou old Priam's guest, and didst thou heal 

His spacious halls and corridors along 
Delicious music stealing on thy ear, 

Whose echoes sweet yet linger in thy song. 

When to the past, oh bard, thy spirit turns, 

To ruins marking where proud temples stood, 
To mouldering tombs and melancholy urns, 

To cities crumbling in their solitude, 
And gathers thence thy inspiration fine — 

Thy magic verses then such power possess, 
That every heart, with sighs as sad as thine, J 

Doth pulsate back to thee thy mournfulnesf. 



TO A BELOVED POET. 135 

When with high thoughts thy soul exultant thrills, 

And thy bold strains like martial music rise, 
Our fervent breasts a strange, wild frenzy fills, 

Prom pulse to pulse the leaping ardor flie^f ; 
"When glowing tones upon thy golden lyre, 

As soft, as warm as maidens' blushes dwell, 
Then burn a thousand hearts with love's own fire, 

With ecstacy a thousand bosoms swell. 



ADDIE 



The daughters of my father's house — 

They were not over fair ; 
But one of them had loving eyes, 

And soft and shining hair. 

Her cheek was like the pale blush rose, 

Her smile was like the sun, 

Her brow — it was the fairest thing, 

You ever looked upon. 

(136) 



ADDIE. 137 



She floated like a fairy sylph, 

Along the joyous dance ; 
An angel-soul was on her brow, 

And heaven was in her glance. 

Her foot was like tho tiny wing, 

That bears a tiny bird ; 
Her voice was like its carrolling, 

Among tho myrtles heard. 

I would that you had seen her whon, 

Tho loveliest of them all, 
She glided through tho happy band, 

That filled my father's hall. 

She was the darling littlo lamb, 
Our mother most caressed ; 

And I, — I loved her as tho soul, 
That sorrows in my breast. 

She was tho jewel in the chain 
That bound me to this earth, 

The last sweet memory of the reign, 
Of childhood and of mirth. 



138 ADDIE. 

The shrine on which my spirit laid 
Its frankincense and myrrh, 

And I can never love again, 
As I have worshipped her.] 

But she is sleeping sadly now, 
Where willow leaflets fall, 

And long green grasses wildly wave 
Around my father's hall. 



THE VANISHED RACE. 



I knew a palace throned upon a hill, 
The marble beauty of its columned front 
In mellow moon-light gleamed, or flashed the rays 
Of lustrous suns across a lovely vale. 
And gliding up from many an altar-hearth, 
That valley back returned blue incense clouds, 
Which wreathed its dome with soft transparency. 
Around its shining walls there stretched a soft d 
And horizontal twilight of old oaks, 
Disturbed by pyramids of ash and trains 
Of trembling poplars, whence through the long lapse 

(139) 



140 THE VANISHED BACE. 

Of summer's loveliness, unbroken tides 
Of music gushed around its lofty towers — 
The richest orisons from golden orioles, 
The guileful mocking-bird's inconstant lay, 
And tender requiems by the ill-starred dove. 
Nor less entrancing at its granite base, 
There the low sweet farewells of silver waves, 
"Which cleared the steep declivity of green 
To perish in the vale below. 

When far, 
And free rung out across the dusky earth, 
The crystal notes of Eve's bright clarion star, 
In sportive arcalade upon its proud 
And Parian turrets, sprang the swdft winged troops 
Of silent air ; while many a gentle flower 
Beneath the laurel thicket smiled applause, 
And crowned the marching night-winds with per- 
fume. 
There twilight loved to wave her purple flag, 
And morning's raptured soul, in golden tears, 
Dissolved upon her emerald throne. Soft Spring 
With earliest garlands, bound its beauteous vase, 
And there bright Autumn stayed her rainbow car. 
It was a Paradise between the earth, 
And heaven — a stainless shrine, which ever rose 



THE VANISHED RACE. 141 

In lovely cleavage of the eagle's realm, 

Like some eternal monument to man. 

For through that marble pile, moved graceful forms 

Who led the round of bright existence thero. 

They were a race, which might have spurned a 

throne ; 
Its daughters all wero women chaste and fair, 
And all the sons wero proud and princely men. 
And thero was happiness liko Isis veiled, 
For evening's violet cloud went floating off, 
Rich, with spoil of laughter's silvery sound. 
Those vaulted chambers echoed carolled gleo 
From mirth-eyed maidenhood, the shining curls 
Of frail infancy lit their curtained gloom, 
And like a tender dream the fair young bird 
Stole through the twilight corridors, with steps 
Soft as the notes of serenading flutes, 
And musical as love toned virginals. 
They twined May flowers beneath the dark old oaks 
To grace a night-haired maiden's regal brow ; 
Out on the distant slope a stripling sat, 
And built his palace dream of future fame. 
The low deep sounds of love were whispered there, 
And Beauty blushed to hear that she was fair. 



142 THE VANISHED KACE. 

The youthful father taught his children's tasks, 
The mother syllabled their names in prayer ; 
While girdled by a tripled chain of love, 
"Was seen the hallowed head of silver hair. 

I knew that cloud-crowned palace long ago, 

But Change and Grief, since then, have stalked 

In wretched triumph through its arches proud, 

And swept away its lovely denizens. 

One wreathed her brow with laurel leaves and died, 

And one like Mercy went to Paynim shores ; 

But far the saddest fate, of all, befell 

That pale-browed dreamer of renown, who gave 

His blighted spirit to a distant clime ; 

For one was buried with his country's brave, 

And one green native to her Senate Hall, 

Another bore her banner on the wave ; 

Yet most sailed down the Stygian tide of death. 

The last, a lovely relique fled its halls, 

And like a shadowed star roamed o'er the earth. 

But still, they say, that hill-throned mansion rears 

Its alabastrian turrets to the sky 

In strange communion with the mystic stars, 

Which down upon the passer by it sends 

A mournful ordnance lone, which sweeps the soul 

With aching memories of that vanished race. 



I LOVE NO MORE. 



I pour my spirit's urn of wine 

On fair Apollo's music-shrine, 

And weave for him, with tender art, 

The choicest chaplets of myheart. 

At last, his soft seducing lyre 

Relumes my soul's extinguished fire ; 

And wins the^worship, deep and wild, 

It lavished on a sightless child. 

I join the proud exulting throng, 

(143) 



144 I LOVE NO MOKE. 

Who peal his deathless praise along ; 
"With olive buds, I wreathe my lance, 
And gaily thrid the mystic dance. 
The echoes of my trembling shell 
Throughout his vaulted arches swell, 
I bind, with bay, his beauteous brows, 
And bending breathe my burning vows. 
No more Love's silver cord shall bind 
My spirit's swift impetuous wind, 
Free, free, it leaps, from shore to shore, 
I love no more — I love no more. 

As on the Naxian's vine-clad isle, 
Lone Ariadne wept awhile, 
Then, to the grape god's stern control, 
Surrendered all her tender soul ; 
So let me drink the glittering rill, 
Which hallows Heliconia's hill, 
And I will plight a faith more true, 
Than e'er the idol-goblet knew : 
She clasped her temples with the vines, 
Held sacred to the lover's shrines, 
And I should bear a wreathen brow, 
Like him, who claims my homage now. 
The fairest myrtle fades away, 
Give, give to me the immortal bay. 



I LOVE NO MORE. 14i 

Weep Cupid, tyrant, thus, to see 

Thy tortured captive free, free, free, 
Aye weep, thy reign of sighs is o'er, 
I love no more, I love no more. 

Yes, free, for never till to-night, 
My spirit sprang so gay and light, 
To guide the wheeling tempest-cars, 
And winnow waves of twining stars. 
Sure he, whose name I dared invoke, 
At once from witching slumber broke, 
And in one thrilling nectar wave, 
The pledge of future rapture gave. 
Upon my dreaming spirit floats 
A silver tide of astral notes ; 
Not Alceus lyre nor Procnc's tongue 
Such music breathed, such music sung : 
There seems a thick ambrosial cloud, 
My taper's midnight ray, to shroud, 
And break in sparkling dewy rings, 
Beneath the dash of whirring wings. 
My joyful pulses madly start, 
Delicious transports throng my heart — 
It seems as though on thought I trod — 
The rushing god 1 the rushing god ! 



146 I LOVE NO MOEE. 

A leaf! a leaf! one sybil leaf! 

Quick, quick, the god's response is brief, 

I scrawl, his^awful voice is this — 

" Plunge not in Love's profound abyss. 

" I, J will teach your plume to soar, 

But love no more, oh ! love no more." 



MEMOEIAL TO MRS. ANNA BIBB. 



Shall we see thee no more ? Shall we see thee no more ? 

With the sheen of thy beautiful brow, 
And thy pearl-tinted cheek mantling momently o'er, 

"With the pink of the blooming peach-bough ? 

Will thy dulcimer voice never murmur again 

Through the depths of thy spirit's repose, 

Like the notes of that night-bird who carrols her strain 

From the crimson-hued heart of the rose ? 

(147) 



148 MEMOBIAL TO MES. ANNA BIBB. 

Ah ! they tell me those accents of musical mirth 
Have been hushed by the spell of the tomb ; 

That thine angel-like spirit hath floated from earth, 
In the flush of its beauty and bloom. 

We shall see thee no more as that singular smile 

Came wreathing thy bright lips apart, 
So ineffably sweet, that its light could beguile 

Every grief from the moodiest heart. 

Thou hast faded away, as the white lilly dies 
'Midst the radiance of summer's bright zone, 

And I deem thou art wreathing a harp in the skies, 
For I know that an angel has flown. 

Oh ! how swiftly and sadly from life's fairy chain 
Pall the jewels which made it so bright, 

And how mournfully glimmer the few that remain, 
Through the teardrops that darken our sight. 

And the world seems through shadows of midnight to 
roll 
As its sorrowful mazes I tread, 
For they quenched a sweet planet, that shone in my 
soul 
When they laid thee away with tho dead. 



MEMORIAL TO MRS. ANNA BIBB. 149 

Ah ! but few could this world's crowded thoroughfaro 
show, 

Who to me were so lovely and dear; 
And my spirit would fain weave the wealth of her wo 

In a garland of song for thy bier. r? ;. J ""^ 

But how faint are the chords, that I tremblingly strike, 
And how worthless their music appears, 

For my heart and my lyre are breaking alike, 
As they How in the language of tears. 



HUSH MY HEAET. 



Hush, my heart, thy wild commotion, 

Hearest thou not the Savior's voice, 
Stealing on the stormy ocean, 

Bidding every wave rejoice ? 
Break not now with vain repining, 

Burst from sorrow's cumbrous shroud, 
See, the star of peace is shining — 

Shining through a sable cloud. 

Each rebellious murmur bridle, 

Ereely every gift resign, 
Cling not to thy perished idol, 

When a Savior's love is thine. 
(150) 



HUSH MY HEART. 151 

Let the flow of grief's dark river, 

Lave no more the silent sod ; 
Eise and seek the fair forever, 

Where the angels worship God. 

Had He left to thee thy treasure, 

Thou hadst loved this happy earth ; 
And for dreams of fleeting pleasure, 

Bartered thy celestial birth. 
And thy worship might have madly 

Drawn an angel, earthward, down ; 
While the blue sky sorrowed sadly 

For the starlight of her crown. 

Hush ! the voice of thy Ecdeemer 

Stills the billows raging high ; 
While he paints a rainbow streamer 

On the canvass of the sky, 
See, that brow of fadeless beauty 

Girds thee with undying love ; 
Follow thou the path of duty, 

Leading to the bliss above. 



152 HUSH MY HEAET. 

Let this world forsake and shun thee 

And thy brightest hopes decay, 
With that look of love upon thee, 

Toil and grief will flee away. 
Let thy bitter teardrops cluster, 

Soon they shall from earth arise, 
Like a cloud of sacred lustre, 

Treasured in the tranquil skies. 

Joy ! my heart ! this world's dark river 

Laves a city's shining walls, 
Where the star-gemmed domes forever 

Eing with holy festivals. 
And thou shalt, in that dominion, 

When the war with life is done, 
Wave at length thy conquering pinion, 

In the presence of tho Son. 



THE FOUNTAIN AND THE TEEE. 



I saw a sparkling fountain — a fountain clear and 

cold — 
Upon a sombre mountain, a mountain grey and old ; 
Beside this fount I saw an oak of stately trees the king, 
Whose leafy boughs had thrilled for years with songs 

that zephyrs sing. 
It sent its vig'rous roots far down where limpid waters 

flow, 
And quaffed its draughts of liquid life in cooling halls 

below. 
In jets of beauty gushed the fount from out the verdant 

earth, 

In joy sped on its tiny streams rejoicing in their birll ; 

(153) 



154 THE FOUNTAIN AND THE TKEE, 

Now leaping bright in morning's light, loud laughing 

in their flow, 
Or gliding in the moon-lit nighty with murmurs sad and 

low. 
When blushed Aurora o'er the mount, when matin 

breezes played 
'Mid rosy bowers of dewy flowers, or in the valley 

strayed ; 
"When noon tide winds to lillies fair in lovers' accents 

low 
Told gentle words of constant love, which mortals never 

know; 
And when the weary sun went down, when twilight's 

hour was nigh, 
"When crimson hues glowed soft upon the mellow evening 

sky, 
Then God's own singers thronged the boughs'of that 

old monarch tree, 
And warbling sang in tuneful choir their hymns of 

melody. 
Then gaily foamed the silvery fount, and sparkled in its 

glee; 
Then bound on the rivulets all bounding fast and free. 
O, would that fount might ever flow from out its secret 

source 1 



THE FOUNTAIN AND THE TREE. 155 

O, would its streams might ever glide delighting in their 

course ! 
But things of joy must fade away like those of grief 

and woe, 
And only one sweet day of joy earth's fairest objects 

know. 
Bright rainbows arch the glowing clouds one moment, 

then are gone, 
And modest dew-drops on the mead one hour of beau- 
ty own. 
The restless brook with rippling waves in caverns dark 

and deep, 
In whose broad halls from visions hid the blue-eyed 

Naiads sleep, 
With wayward current changed its course in other 

caves to glide, 
And ne'er again the fountain filled, no more its streams 

supplied. 
When in his golden chariot the sun rode in the sky, 
Its beams kissed not that fountain, its secret springs 

were dry. 
Thus desolate the aged tree could have no vigor now, 
And fresh no more its branch could be, and green no 

more its bough. 



156 THE FOUNTAIN AND THE TEEE. 

To sighing winds it gave its leaves and withered on 



Low murmurs trembled 'mid its top, it tottered to its 
base ; 

And when the storm-king blew his trump it fell with 
fearful crash, 

As sinks beneath the woodman's axe the lordly moun- 
tain ash. 

I saw an aged trembling man of three-score years or 
more, 

His eye was dim, his cheek was wan, his footsteps slow 
and sore. 

The gentle wind that cooled his brow but few grey 
hairs could find, 

Where hope in joyous days of youth her fragrant lau- 
rel twin'd. 

I saw a little smiling girl who called this man her sire ; 

Upon her brow gleamed many a curl, her eye as spark- 
ling fire ! 

At morn, at noon, in starry night, she sat close by his 
side, 

And prattled on that lovely child, and gave the old 
man pride. 






THE FOUNTAIN AND THE TREE. 157 

He clung to life to see her smiles, to listen to her glee, 
That not one ill might pale her cheek, or mar her gayety. 
But brightest eyes their glances cease, and sweetest lips 

their songs, 
And in this life to gentlest hearts the saddest doom be- 
longs. 
Of all the roses in the vale the queen the earliest dies, 
And earth's best spirits plume their wings the soonest 

for the skies. 
Death waved his deadly cypress branch dark o'er that 

laughing one ; 
She smiled no more, her joy was o'er, her bud of life 

unblown ! 
She sank to rest upon the heart of that old trembling 

man, 
And he caressed, and sadly pressed that hand so cold 

and wan. 
From that dear fount, whose music thrilled his heart 

like lyric lays, 
No more sweet cups of pure delight his aged hands 

could raise. 
Then dreary grew the night to him, and darkly dawned 

the day, 

8 



158 THE FOUNTAIN AND THE TREE. 

And sighs of grief in evening winds he seemed to hear 



Thus desolate his life's sad harp one lonely paean poured, 
Then willingly from earth to God the old man's spirit 
soared. 



THE PER&T\N BRIDE. 



See, Kuldah, if thy lord returns, 
If on the hill his morion burns ; 
The solstice sunbeams fiercely play — 
He lingers in the hunt to-day : 

Muezzin's call to mid-day prayer 

Floats solemn through the sultry air ; 

But ah ! my heart forgets to pray 

When Oassim wanders thus away. 

(159) 



160 THE PERSIAN BRIDE. 

Oh ! for one note of that wild shell, 
Whose silver sounds, I love so well ; 
List, Kuldab, if their echoes fill 
With sweetness not the silent hill ; 
See if his crested courser train, 
Winds proudly not across the plain, 
And like a star upon its van, 
With flashing sheath and ataghan, 
My Cassim's presence shines not there, 
The fairest of a hundred fair. 

How redly glows the tropic sky, 
How hushed the distant waters lie, 
It seems as though a simoon's wing 
Slept silently on every thing. 
The palms like weary eaglets droop, 
See how my fragile lillies stoop ; 
Bereft of morning's lucid dew 
Like me they pine and languish too. 
I'll gather one pale shrinking bell, 
Its mournful beauty suits me well ; 
And guard with kind, yet futile art, 
This fleeting portrait of my heart. 
And oh ! that Allah, from above, 



THE PERSIAN BRIDE. 161 

When life hath lost the light of love, 
Would mark the fading of the flower, 
That bloomed awhile in Cassim's bower ; 
And ere the sweetness all be fled, 
Which once its wilting petals shed, 
Would grant, that Azrael's wing, unfurled, 
Might waft them from a dreary world. 

Think you, dear Kuldah, that I prize 
These marble floors of thousand dyes, 
This palace hall — these graven panes, 
Whose crimson tint the sunbeam stains, 
These costly gems a lover's pride, 
Hath showered upon his Persian bride — 
Think you that they had chained me here, 
Had Cassim not himself been dear. 

Ah ! no, there is a land afar, 
Whose brightness made my morning star, 
Whose deathless memories oft control 
The visions of my dreaming soul. 
And there on music's silver wings 
His passioned soul the bulbul flings, 
And till the day-dawn faintly glows, 



162 THE PERSIAN BRIDE. 

Beguiles from sleep, the blushing rose. 
There glowing bends the clustering vine, 
Whence Shiray draws her purple wine, 
And fairy barques and barges break 
The mirror of her moonlit lake. 
The gorgeous realm of Kurreem Kahn 
Bright as a rainbow's jewelled span 
"With ail its light — without its tears 
It arches o'er my childhood's years. 
In those soft shades full many a bird ' 
And silver stream is sweetly heard, 
And all were bright and blest and. fair, 
If only Cassim wandered there. 

Why comes he not ? It is not day 

Without his dark eye's sunny ray ; 

A gloomy sadness veils the hall, 

Thy lute hangs idly on the wall, 

My bright -winged birdling charms me not, 

The fountain sorrows in the grot, 

And weary, w^eary is my brow, 

See, Kuldah, if he comes not now. 



THE PERSIAN BRIDE. 163 

Tis past the hour when from the sport 
His steed is wont to tramp the court, 
And Oassim yield the gilded rein 
To wear himself a softer chain. 
'Tis past the hour when in the hall 
Kings proud and free his quick footfall, 
And like a planet on the night 
His bright brow bursts upon my sight. 
How like a god he bends awhile 
To greet his Zalma's eager smile 
Who ruffles back with anxious care 
His brow's dark veil of raven hair, 
And then, where all her treasure lies 
Her soul dives down those glorious eyes, 
And through the sea of rapture swims 
"Which floats within their shadowed brims. 

Where is he now, by what cool stream, 
Do those w r hite eyelids closing dream ? 
Say what pomegranite's envious bough 
Bends blushing o'er her slumbers now, 
Vain thing, tis Zalma's task to keep 
Sole vigil o'er her lover's sleep. 



164 THE TERSIAN BRIDE. 

Hark ! Kuldah, heard you not that note ? 
It seemed to cleave an angel's throat ; 
So wildly clear, so sweetly loud 
It floated from the cliff's white cloud. 
Look, Kuldah, say what ails thine eye, 
Do you not see bright banners fly, 
And down beneath the olive's dun 
A flash of armour like the sun ? 
I see, I see, a dancing plume 
Break brightly through the leafy gloom, 
And ripple down the mountain height 
Like some wild comet through the night. 
'Tis Cassim's crest, fly ! Kuldah, fly ! 
And bid his banner flout the sky ! 
"Wave gaily from his palace dome, 
Thy gallant chieftain's welcome home. 

'Tis he, I catch the lustre now, 
Which flushes round his brilliant brow, 
He sees me, look, he waves his hand 
And leaves behind. the tardy band, 
His bright eye burns, his red lip glows. 



<rnE PERSIAN BRIDE. 165 

Bee, see, another kiss he throws. 
And mark, how swift his winged steed 
A sun-crowned storm flies o'er the mead, 
And each wild tramp with matchless art 
Keeps pace with Zalma's bounding heart. 



s 



IN THE BO WEE. 



How softly to rapture this zephyr beguiles, 
How balmy with odors from ocean's sweet isles ! 

Yon crescent of heaven shines queen of the night, 
It gleams through the lattice, how golden its light ! 

While trembles my fond heart with beams from thine 

eyes, 
I'll give thee a flower, young lover's best prize. 

(166) 



IN THE BOWER. 167 

'Tis summer's first rose-bud, its petals how fair ! 
Then twine it, my own love, amid thy dark hair. 

Its freshness will wither, its perfume depart, 
But always thy beauty will bloom in my heart. 

When youth 'mid thy tresses no longer may toy, 
And time from thy bosom has gathered its joy ; 

When lost is the luster thy pure orbs now own, 
And graces of girlhood are faded and flown ; 

In memory's mirror these bright stars will shine, 
Again on my bosom thy form will recline ; 

Once more the young crescent will 'lumine thy brow, 
And I, in this bower, will murmur my vow ! 



I LOVE BUT THEE. 



I love thee, yet beneath thine eye, 

My trembling soul grows hushed and still, 
As when beneath the moonlit sky, 

The waves of ocean mutely thrill. 
I have not then a monotone 

To murmur in thy listening ear, 
For silence builds her shadowy cone, 

Upon my spirit's dreaming sphere, 
But down beneath my being's swell, 

With tender cadence soft and free, 

A mermaid winds her silver shell — 

I love but thee, I love but thee. 

(168) 



I LOVE BUT THEE. 169 

I love thee, though I cannot breathe, 

In lingual tones, a single vow, 
But in my heart, the sea-elves wreathe 

Bright coral garlands for thy brow. 
And though I seem so cold and proud, 

Y^hen thou art bending at my shrine, 
My soul's chill waters ever shroud 

A wreath of pearls, whose light is thine. 
And soft amid the festive throng, 

There floats across my spirit's sea, 
A measure like a halcyon's song — 

I love but thee, I love but thee. 

I love thee, though when thou art near, 

I turn away my conscious head, 
And blanch, as though with fright, to hear 

The simple music of thy tread. 
But through my spirit's fountain caves 

Then swiftly shoots love's purple foam, 
Suffusing all the spell-bound waves, 

With radiant colors, soft and warm. 
And on my soul's wide waste there springs 

One living fountain, fresh and free, 
"Which through its briny billows sing, 

I love but thee, I love but thee. 



170 I LOVE BUT THEE. 

I love thee ; thou art like the star, 

Which leads the silver host of night, 
And flings across the ocean far, 

A lengthening line of living light. 
And as that star's trancendant gleam, 

The truthful ocean, back, returns, 
So does my soul reflect the beam, 

Which fills thine eye's pure planet urns. 
And fain would those soft wavelets rise, 

And back in one glad burst of glee, 
But on my life the anthem dies — > 

I love but thee, I love but thee. 

I love thee, and bright memories flash 

Across my heart, when thou art gone, 
As ocean's phosphor billows dash 

Beneath the midnight's sable zone. 
And yet I know such love is vain, 

A dream which soon will glimmer by, 
How can the lowly wavelet claim 

The starry splendor of the sky ? 
But as the sea's wild surges beat, 

Forever, round some proud palm-tree, 
My spirit murmurs round thy feet, 

I love but thee, I love but thee. 



I LOVE BUT THEE. 171 

Thou wilt forget me, other eyes 

"Will win the worship of thy heart, 
And like a cloud of gorgeous dyes, 

Thy presence from my sky depart. 
And hope within my spirit sighs, 

As vision so divine, to lose, 
And like the withering dolphin dies 

Amid a thousand rainbow hues. 
And sad and low those echoes float 

Across my heart's deserted sea, 
As though a tear quenched every note — 

I love but thee, I love but thee. 



I'M LONELIEST IN A CEO WD. 



"When, mid the busy haunts of men 
The waves of life around me roll, 

Then memory links her darkest chain 
And sorrow broods upon my soul. 

When from the festive hall I hear 
The sounds of laughter gay and loud, 

Like funeral bells they strike mine ear — 

I'm loneliest in a crowd. 

172 



i'm loneliest in a crowd. 173 

When with the young, the gay, the fair, 

I wander forth with hope to lose 
My youthful spirit's age of care 

And brighten up its faded hues, 
Then most amid their rainbow forms 

I feel my stricken spirit bowed 
And memory rouses sleeping storms — 

I'm loneliest in a crowd. 



Oh ! give to me the silent night 

Its starry musings lone and still 
The streamlet's soft sequestered flight 

The solemn moon communing hill. 
I cannot see a human face 

But round it winds the pale white shroud, 
And Death seems robed in forms of grace, 

I'm loneliest in a crowd. 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 



On my desolate track once the beautiful shone 
Like a star that had stolen from Heaven's bright zone 
But she melted in beauty and mystery away, 
Like a rainbow's frail pinion of sunlight and spray. 



I caught for a moment but one lightning glance 
Of her form as it wreathed through the festival dance, 
Like the waving of boughs stept the graceful and free, 
Like the bending of blossoms above the blue sea. 



(174) 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 175 

There were hundreds around her, the young and the fair, 

But none with such singular brightness of hair, 

It twined and it floated in many a curl 

Like a chaplet of gold round a pillar of pearl. 



And none with such smiles of angelical grace 

That showering fell from her marvellous face, 

Like the long streaming plumes of a Paradise bird, 

Or the strings of a harp which the zephyrs have stirred. 

I sought her again, — but the faultless had fled 

Like a swan down the stream, like a star which hath 

sped, 
And I sought her no more, for I knew such a flower 
On the stem of a century would bloom but an hour. 



TO MY LYRE. 



Come, come, my lyre, come back to me, 
'Tis long since I, thy strings have tried ; 

Though thou hast filled my heart with glee, 
When other friends have left my side. 

Though sad hath sometimes been thy lay, 
And woven of sorrow's sable thread, 

Thou never wert so false as they, 

"Whose fitful friendship swiftly fled. 

(176) 



TO MY LYRE. 177 

Though others may have bidden me, 

To weep in silence and alone, 
I never poured my heart on thee, 

But that there came an answer tone. 
And thou bast never wooed that heart, 

To render up its richest gem, 
That thou might'st, like a chief, depart, 

And wear it in thy diadem. 

When wild misfortune's wintry wing 

Dispersed the summer's heartless throng, 
It only won from thy torn string, 

A sadder, though a deeper song. 
And thou hast never been unkind, 

Although it were a trifling art, 
To steal the few faint roses twined, 

Around a sad sepulchral heart. 

No, no, 'tis I who have been false, 

To bid thy tender murmurs die, 
Or faint in Memorv's funeral vaults, 

The half-formed echoes of a sigh. 



TO MY LYKE. 178 

But I repent my cherished lyre, 
Thy silent chords once more I wreathe, 

Come sparkle with celestial fire, 
And one immortal measure breathe. 

The cold deriding world will deem 

Thy song a light unmeaning scroll, 
But ah ! 'twill give a deathless dream, 

Of rapture to my cheerless soul. 
Nor care I though thy murmurs wild, 

As fleeting and forgot may be, 
As May- wreaths which a simple child, 

Flings idly on the foaming sea. 

And when my fingers fail, in death, 

At last, to sweep thy quivering wire, 
I care not though thine every breath, 

Should on oblivious breast expire. 
So I but string, in yonder sky, 

A harp, whose soft melodious tone 
Shall never breathe an earthly sigh 

Around the great Eternal Throne. 



ZION. 



Lift, Zion, lift thy beauteous head, 

No more in dust and sorrow bow, 
Up through the aisles of mercy tread, 

And pay thy God thy promised vow. 
See o'er the hills thy Day Star rise, 

The heavy shades of night have fled, 
A rainbow spans the brightening skies — 

Lift, Zion, lift thy beauteous head. 

(179) 



180 zion. 

No more, thou daughter of a King, 

Thou shalt in grief and mourning go, 
Put on thy festal robes, and sing 

Of triumph to thy vanquished foe. 
No more his foot shall trample thee, 

Nor thou in captive chains be led, 
For God, thy God hath made thee free, 

Lift, Zion, lift thy lovely head. 

No changeling child of earth art thou, 

Bride of our Sovereign's only Son ; 
Bright, pure and spotless is the brow, 

Which hath a heavenly Lover won. 
Then wreathe, with myrtles, thy gold hair, 

Hear, hear thy Lover's stately tread, 
His voice like music thrills the air, 

Lift, Zion, lift thy glorious head. 



LINES 

FOR THE LAYING OF THE CORNER STONE OF THE 1st 
PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH IN MEMPHIS. 



Let us lay our Corner Stone, 
Let us lay it broad and fair, 
With the organ's pealing tone, 
And the melody of prayer. 
On this fair and goodly plain, 
"Which the swarthy savage trod, 
We will rear a stately fane 
To the great and living God. 



182 LINES. 

Let us lay its corner stone, 
And the people here shall throng, 
And his boundless bounty own, 
In a shout of sacred song. 
For He builded yonder dome, 
Where the stars of Freedom shine, 
And our mighty rivers roam . 
Through a land of milk and wine. 



Let us lay our Corner Stone ; 
Though the builders threw it by, 
It was quarried from a Throne, 
In the adamantine sky. 
And the fabric which shall spring 
On the surface of this rock, 
Shall not fear the lightning's wing, 
Nor the whirlwind's fearful shock. 



Let us lay our Corner Stones, 
While we bend in fervent prayer, 
In our spirit's mystic zones, 
Let us lay them broad and fair. 



LINES. 183 

And these deathless souls of ours, 
Shall in future triumph rise, 
Like this temple's holy towers, 
Through the radiance of the skies. 



TO A BIED. 



Soar away, trembling bird, to thine own starry home, 

I would not imprison thee here, 
O-o dash with thy pinion the light fleecy foam, 

Which crests the deep blue atmosphere. 

Go, sing through the clear crystal arch of the sky, 

Thy music so varying and wild, 
And join with the seraphine chaunting on high, 

Hymns of praise to the great Undefiled. 

(184) 



TO A BIRD. 185 

I would not that Earth should thy gay plumage stain 

Fly away like a carol of glee, 
For I have been bound by Calamity's chain, 

But thy wing, bonny bird, shall be free. 

Oh ! this world is a mixture of gladness and gloom, 

An altar of hearts at the best, 
"Where some must in flames like aroma consume, 

That incense may float round the rest. 

And the victor who tramps through the long stately 
street, 

In triumph and martial array, 
Regards not the flowers that fast round his feet, 

In odours, are dying away. 

But never, thou birdling, thy throat's silver song 

Shall gladden the heartless and vain, 
Whose bosoms, with thrillings of rapture could throng, 

To a breaking heart's musical strains. 

No, music should never be captive, but free 

As the spheres of the infinite sky, 
"Whose anthems float down to the blue bounding sea, 

Back billowing her joyous reply. 



186 TO A BIRD. 

And the sheen of thy pinion is chainless to claim 

Its heritage starry and blue, 
To burst through the air, like a fetterless flame, 

Or wander dim forest aisles through. 

Then fly, like a prayer from the heart's secret core, 

Go, melt in yon white rolling cloud ; 
And I would that my spirit, as sinless, might soar, 

At last, to the throne of her God. 



PHILIPPI. 



Within the tent of Brutus strode 

The murdered Emperor's shade, 
Still crimson with the blood that flowed, 

When Brutus plunged his blade. 
But ah ! the look of love had fled 

Which wrapped that pallid brow, 
When pierced with anguish Caesar said, 

" Oh ! Brutus is it thou ?" 
The sad reproachful glance was gone, 

For vengeance filled his eye, 

And dread was that sepulchral tone — 

" We meet at Phillippi." 

(187) 



188 PHILIPPI. 

The night-wind wailed, a lonely wail, 

The taper glimmered blue, 
And Fear, himself, looks not more pale, 

Than guilty Brutus grew. 
For Conscience put on armor there, 

And in the midnight hour, 
He who could face a million men, 

Confessed her sovereign power. 
" "What art thou demon — friend or foe ?" 

The spirit gave reply, 
" I am thine evil genius, know, 

" We meet at Phillippi." 



That voice had lost the tenderness, 

In other days, it bore 
For him, who loved nofrCsesar less, 

But Rome so much the more. 
It struck now, like a thunder clang, 

Upon his reeling brain, 
And three and twenty red mouths rang 

A fearful chorus strain. 



PHILIPPI- 189 

And yet 'twas Caesar, he alone 

Could claim that bearing high, 
Though stern, and strange his farewell tone, 

"We meet at Philippi.'' 

Like some wild dream, the shadow fled, 

For morning flushed the sky, 
And as the living meet the dead, 

They met at Philippi. 
It was a challenge, bold and rare, 

To brave that bloody plain, 
For all were gallant Romans there, 

The slayer and the slain. 
And through their ranks that martial shade 

Seemed, like a god, to fly, 
And blunt each traitor's blood-stained blade 
Which flashed at Philippi. 

But most it seemed to hang, the while, 

Around the flag unfurled, 
Of him, who gave for Beauty's smile 

The empire of the world. 
Soft Antony in thy laurel crown 

It placed its brightest gem, 

And Csesar, for thy lordly frown 
9* 



190 PHILIPPI. 

It won, a diadem. 
But Cassius, thou lean conqueror when 

The Ides of March rolled by, 
Blood stained thy steel — 'twas Caesar's thine, 

'Tis thine at Philippi. 

Oh ! Julius Caesar, mighty yet, 

Amid the ranks of war, 
Not in the capitol could set 

Thy glorious natal star. 
Still o'er the battle-field it streams, 

A terror to thy foes, 
As gorgeous in its setting beams, 

As when it first arose. 
For Brutus played the noblest part 

Beneath that red March sky, 
And on his sword, he pierced his heart, 

At fearful Philippi. 



A STARLIGHT CHATJN!T. 



Liquid opal showers glide 

Prom the dew's baptismal urn, 
Lambent flames of sacred fire 

On the night's blue altars burn. 
And the soul of music floats 

Down her arches dim and grey, 
From the gentle lutelike throats, 

Quivering on the myrtle spray. 
With those airy notes, let us, 

Through the mystic starlight stroll, 
I?or a dewy cloud of joy 

Breaks in brightness on my soul. 
(191) 



192 A STAR-LIGHT CHAUNT. 

How the fairy minstrel flowers 

Bender through this leafy gloom, 
Low responses to the birds, 

In a chorus of perfume. 
From those ringing odour-bells 

Gush a thousand rosy dreams, 
And one valley in a bath 

Of pellucid beauty seems. 
It is not a night, when Thought 

Should, a restless maniac, rave 
Down that gloomy vale, which leads 

To the treasure loving grave. 

It is true, that we have wept, 

Who that dwells on earth has not ? 
But we will not think, to-night, 

On the sorrows of our lot. 
Let us wreathe, of planet rays, 

Festive garlands for our souls, 
Till the morn her glorious light 

On their shadowed beauty rolls. 
For my heart is, like a dove, 

Brooding on the dreaming earth, 
And it glides to Him, w T hose love 

Breathed its beauty into birth. 



A STAK-LIGHT CHATJNT. 193 

Dost thou hear that tender flute, 



Thrilling silence on her throne ? 
Does not all our perished Youth 

Tremble on each semitone. 
Golden pinioned moments rich 

"With the freight of partial praise — 
Do they not sail back to thee, 

On the bosom of its lays ? 
All our childhood's summer nights, 

With the cherished and the lost, 
Ere they flamed into the skies, 

In one fearful holocaust ? 

But we must not weep to-night, 

Through the blue Cathedral dome, 
Not a sigh must, from one heart, 

Like an unblest spirit, roam. 
For this hoary priestal earth, 

And the choral stars above 
Shout, in antiphonic tones, 

Shout the tender theme of love. 
And concordant strains, as soft, 

From our spirits should exude, 
As the breathing breezes now 

Peopling purple solitude. 



194 A STAR-LIGHT CHAUNT. 

So we will not weep to-night, 

"While this grand musician earth, 
Through the golden starlight peals 

Hymnic chaunts of sacred mirth. 
We will breathe of gladness too — 

Prom the temple of the heart, 
All its glorious forms do not, 

With the funeral trains, depart. 
Some remain ; and while we rear 

Silver shrines to God-like Truth, 
Memory's ivy crowns the gold 

Caryatidis of Youth. 



THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 



A maiden sat at eventide 
Beside a flowing stream — 

Majestic stream, with flowery banks, 
And waves of golden gleam : 

The maiden sure is in a dream, 

Her hazel eyes so pensive beam 1 

(195) 



196 THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

So young, so fair, why sits she there 

"With melancholy mien ! 
So motionless, her shadow still 

Within the waves is seen : 
The dusky twilight soon will come — 
The maiden then should seek her home. 

The maiden dreameth on ; and sad 
The waves' low music swells 

Upon the ambient atmosphere 
With softest cadence dwells : 

Just sad enough the waves' refrain 

To link her thoughts' harmonious chain. 

The maiden dreameth on ; and lo ! 

Upon the river rides 
A boat of gorgeous golden prow — 

How noiselessly it glides ! 
See through the twilight's dark'ning fold, 
How gleams that burnished prow of gold ! 

Hark ! loud above the waves' refrain, 

In right commanding tone, 
Full tender, yet as proud as if 



THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE, 197 

Demanding but its own, 
A lordly voice the maiden hears 
And these the words that reach her ears : — 

" Thou maiden fair of raven hair, 

Of melancholy mien ! 
Within my dreams thine eyes' soft beams 

Have long ago been seen : 
I vowed it then to leave my home, 
In quest of thee o'er earth to roam. 

" I've kept my vow, roamed o'er the land, 

And sailed upon the stream ; 
My cynosure the hazle-beam 

Years since I gazed on in a dream : 
Oh ! sail with me towards the sea, 
Where wealth and honor wait for thee. 



"Where proud baronial lands extend 

Beneath a peaceful sky, 
My palace rears its marble walls 

In grand serenity : 
Within the hall my slaves await 
Thee, maiden, thee to share my state. 



198 the MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

" Wilt come ? If thou wilt be my bride, 

Upon my turrets gray 
The earliest sun will shine and e'er 

The softest moonbeams lay : 
A word, a sign, will e'er command 
All that thy slightest wants demand." 

" It may not be," the maiden said ; 

" Sail on unto the main ! 
Not wealth, not power, I crave for dower, 

But heart for heart again, 
Float, golden boat unto the sea : 
And leave me portionless, but free !" 

The maiden dreameth on ; again 

Mute, motionless is she ; 
Again the waves' low music swells, 

And soothes her reverie : 
Upon her ear sweet accents fell — 
Her guardian angel murmured " Well !" 

The maiden dreameth on ; and lo 

Upon the river rides 
A boat, whose keel the waters kiss — 



THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 199 

How gracefully it glides ! 
Although it boasts not prow of gold, 
Its course how stately doth it hold ! 

Hark ! chiming with the waves' refrain, 

A voice, as low and sweet 
As music's tone, steals gently on, 

For ear of maiden meet : 
Those wooing words of softest spell 
Her heart within will ever dwell. 



" Thou maiden fair of raven hair, 

Of melancholy mien ! 
Canst tell me why the des'late swan, 

On lake of siiv'ry sheen, 
Though limpid waters lave his breast, 
Will lowly droop his pensive crest ? 

" Thou maiden fair, of raven hair, 

Of melancholy mien ! 
Canst tell me why the dove doth mourn 

In mead of brightest green ? 
Why plaintive song, the woods among, 
The lonely bird doth e'er prolong ? 



200 THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

" List, maid ! the mystery I solve 
By art that love believes : 

The dove, upon the withered bough 
For absent loved one grieves. 

Apart they mourn in lonesome grove — 

Together live, together love. 

'tThe swan upon the silver lake 
His wand'ring mate doth moan ; 

His shadow is no company — 
His shadow makes him lone. 

Shall I while gliding down this stream, 

Behold a single shadow gleam ? 

" See ! one by one bright stars appear 
T' attest my solemn vow : 

I swear alway to cherish pure 
The love I offer now : 

Oh ! sail with me towards the sea — 

A loving heart awaits but thee. 

" Our souls will yield us sigh for sigh, 

While sailing to the sea ! 
Our shadows floating on with us, 



THE MAIDEN S CHOICE. 

Shall keep fond compare : 
In storm or calm, our hope is love — 
Our trust is in our God above." 



201 



The boat glides down the stream of Life, 

Soft downward to the main ; 
The waves' low music swells aloud 

In tuneful -nuptial strain. 
Two souls there love, two shadows gleam : 
G-od guide the boat safe down the stream ! 



THE DEAD MINSTREL. 



Low lie the tresses of another Year, 
And minstrels strew with song his viewless bier — 
As through the mystic midnight's blue arcades, 
The music of his meteor-pinion fades. 
Earth, Air, the Sea, and heaven's starry shore 
Re-echo wails for him, who sings no more. 
'Tis meet that song should mourn the year, alas ! 
Both like the shadow from the dial pass. 
One, swallowed in the glory of an age, 
But dimly lights the grey historic page — 
The cadence of the other's winding shell 
Is scarcely heard, 'mid Life's wild ocean swell. 

(202) 



THE DEAD MINSTREL. 203 

Ah, often poison fills Fame's flattering breath, 
And poet laurels prove a cypress wreath, 
The Muse is but a syren maid, whose strain 
"Will bind her votary with a burning chain, 
Ah, then so rich in sorrow's tone, the lyre 
May well wail round a poet's funeral pyre. 
A fleeting poet ! one, who sprang from Time, 
And chanted various lays through every clime. 
The faded year ! ah ! in his glorious prime, 
The hall of crowded nations saw him rise, 
And crowned with early laurels, improvise. 

Sweet was the song of hope, his liquid tongue 

Poured in the glowing bosoms of the young ; 

Gay childhood, dancing through a world of flowers, 

To golden measures led the " smiling hours." 

The stripling, panting for Life's toilsome march, 

Viewed distant rainbows paint the future's arch. 

And haunted by its spell, the maiden fair 

Dreamed dreams as radiant as her own bright hair. 

Low bending o'er his page, the student heard 

The dulcet cadence of his prophet word, 

Saw Fame his triumph on her bulwarks stamp, 

And smiled, and trimmed again his " midnight lamp," 



204 THE DEAD MINSTREL. 

The careless peasant, wending o'er the mead, 
With whistling rapture hailed Apollo's steed, 
The sceptred king from midnight's astral zone, 
Beheld new splendor blaze around his Throne. 
His cantos to the daring sailor bore 
Some bright-limned picture of the Arctic shore, 
While through the witching strains an accent came, 
Which charmed the statesman like the voice of Fame. 

Yet soon, ah ! soon, the halcyon music changed, 
As o'er his harp the lyrist's fingers ranged ; 
The harp, she swept, was strung with human hearts, 
Which mocked the magic of his minstrel arts. - 
Some proud heart breaking tears away a wire 
And jars with discord wild his ringing lyre ; 
The night-winds spring from many a lonely vale, 
And teach its shattered clouds a horrid tale. 
The soft sidereal eyes of Night suffuse, 
And bathe their silver with corroding dews ; 
While Ocean from her caves like thunder rolls 
With wails of wrecking barques and sinking souls. 
Ah, swiftly then the bard's young brow grew grave 
As o'er his lyre he bent its nerveless slave. 
Like some magician, crouched in wild surprise, 
Before the fiend his sorceries exorcise. 



THE DEAD MINSTREL. 205 

For lo ! his voice, a strange ventriloquist, 
Now murmured song, and now harsh horrors hissed, 
As struck at once some mighty organ's keys 
Yield all their solemn grandeur to the breeze. 



Caught from his lyre, at once his Proteus tongue, 
With rival and coeval measures rung. 
Here swelled the Sabbath's morning's holy chime , 
Here clamored loud the crimson lip of crime. 
Then perished faint the pauper's parting sigh, 
And then the pean of purple wealth rolled by. 
Love, like a violet breathed away her life, 
Upon the raging roar of party strife, 
And sorrow's sigh and terror's dismal yell 
In madness smote the tuneful bridal bell. 
Now Mammon's guileful lay enchants the breeze, 
Which curls the wavelets of Australian seas, 
And now the farewell tones of Freedom came, 
Who fled the prestige of an Emperor's name. 
Now rose the crashing of a shivered spear, 
As Albion bent above a warrior's bier, 

10 



206 THE DEAD MINSTREL. 

And now pale nations fill the funeral train, 
"Which sweeps through fair Columbia's starry fane, 
For through the medley rolled, with ceaseless moan, 
The dark Destroyer's master monotone. 



No longer young, the flattering harpist wept, 
As o'er his soul the tempest music swept, 
Thought's restless thread a wrinkled fabric weaves 
O'er brows begirt by early laurel leaves 
His sweet voice jangled grew, and day by day, 
His hyacinthine hair waxed thin and grey ; 
His full orbed eyes, with sunsets, lost their fire, 
And palsy numbed the hands that held the lyre. 



A dying bard ! his farewell sigh fleets by, 
And thrids the whispering gallery of the sky; 
The trumpet tube of time receives the one, 
And blends it with the voice of ages gone, 
Until the dread archangel's stormy blast 
Shall bid their slumbering echoes wake at last, 
And leap, in thunder peals, from shore to shore, 
41 Alas I Time was, but Time shall be no more." 



THE DEAD MINSTREL. 207 

The perished poet ! his exulting strain 
Hath died upon the midnight's purple plain, 
And as the sleepless stars their vigils keep, 
The harp he swept, another's fingers sweep. 
Yet faithful chroniclers, their lamps, shall burn, 
In quenchless radiance, round his storied urn, 
And crowned with bay-leaves and a broken lyre, 
Where slumber all his race from sire to sire, 
His monumental shatt shall rise, sublime, 
And grace the grand Westminster dome of Time. 



POWEES' GEEEK SLAVE. 



What deathless triumph of immortal Thought, 
Hath the skilled sculptor's sentient chisel wrought, 
A woman sprung from stone, yet fair as she, 
"Whose lover braved the wild engulphing sea ; 
Or she, who fired the world with Beauty's spell, 
When Grecian flames arose, and Ilium fell* 

Thou radiant dream ! what though through Tempi's 

glade, 
At eve, thy breezy footstep never Btrayed, 
No* thy soft boW-like lip launched arrcrwy showers, 

(£08) 



powers' greek slave. 209 

Of silver sounds, through Ida's leafy bowers— 

What though, from famed Cecropia's templed height, 

The blue engirdling sea, ne'er met thy sight : 

Nor sprang thy gaily gilt caique, to kiss 

The starry waves of sacred Salamis — 

Of Greek descent, all pure and lineal thou 

As though, with vermiel lip and silken brow, 

Thy birth had been where Ossa bowers in snow, 

Or where Arcadian measures sweetly flow. 

The calm composure" of sublime despair — 

The vanquished griefs thy tender features bear — 

The eye resolved though sad — the lip's proud curve 

"Which awes the ru#e insultor thou must serve, 

They all proclaim thy ancestry the free, 

Who perished victors at Thermopyla. 



Sweet captive, as the sculptor's classic brain 
Grew glowing with old Grecia's glory strain, 
Through mind's vast arcades, rushed a shadowy throng 
Of names, dear to Freedom, and to Song. 
And as the proud historic host swept past, 
Thy prestige role, the brightest and the last. 



210 powers' greek slavk. 

Then watched the raptured carver, day by day, 

His dream through solid marble force its way ; 

Slow rose each soft proportion, true and just, 

The swelling limbs, the pure and faultless bust — 

The rounded throat — the proud symmetric head, 

Bowed like the rain-crushed lily on its bed. 

A being bursting from the stone to sight, 

Pair as the daughter of the sea-foam white, 

And chaste as she with breast of spotless snow, 

Pale Dian, huntress with the silver bow. 

A chain, alas ! thy model members bore, 

Pit type of " Greece, but living Greece no more." 

Yet does thy Paith's fair symbol speak how free, 

The spirit of the youthful devotee. 

And though amid the cold unfeeling mart, 

Still to thy locket, clings thy constant heart. 

Upon thy matchless lip is music mute, 

And toneless as upon an unstrung lute, 

Yet could thy voice well from its silent urn, 

"What precious truths, thy brutal lords might learn. 

Methinks 'twould chain the pinions of the breeze, 

"With soulful murmurs sad and stern as these. 

" Ye bind these fragile limbs with iron gyves 
The price of Mamote blood and Suliote lives, 



powers' greek slave. 211 

But vainly do your Turkish fetters seek 

To quell the lofty spirit of a Greek. 

Ye cannot forge the chain, the scourge, the rod, 

For souls who bow alone to freedom's God. 

Degraded slaves ! ye sully manhood's name, 

For you my burning brow is flushed with shame — 

You who forget that Justice never sleeps 

That Pity o'er insulted virtue weeps. 

Aye tremble, on the future's cloudy verge, 

I see Boggaris stand— Mahomet's scourge. 

Like some war-eagle, with portentous swoop, 

I see him put to flight your bastard troop, 

And teach your base insensate souls to feel, 

What fearful terror guides avenging steel. 

" Your hills and vallies reek with Suliote blood, 
And mine can scarcely swell the princely flood, 
Yet 'tis not life, to live, a tyrant's slave, 
Nor death to rescue Virtue from her grave, 
'Tis true, 'tis true, this frame may bring you gold, 
But love and virtue are not bought or sold. 
Love, love, a faded name ! the battle-field 
Cannot, to passion's sigh, its martyred hero yield ; 



212 powers' greek slave. 

And listen, all who vainly hopes to buy, 
"Will learn how calmly Christian maidens die 
For 'twas the tutelage of my earliest breath 
To purchase fredom with the price of — death 



I LOVE THEE. 



I love thee, as we love the dead, 

Who never more may come, 
And smiles of fond affection shed 

Around our darkened home. 
"We clasp their memory to the heart- 

We wish they had not fled, 
Or pray that we, too, might depart, 

And slumber with the dead. 



10* 



I 



214 I LOVE THEE, 

I love thee, as I love to gaze, 

With strangely dreaming soul, 
Upon yon wizard light, that plays 

Around the Northern Pole. 
Out on the darkness, flames and fades 

That lightning wild and gay, 
And through my spirit's dim arcades, 

In vision floats away. 

I love thee, as I love the dream, 

Which comes at midnight's hour, 
And dazzles with a transient gleam, 

Of some unearthly flower. 
Some elfin flower of lunar birth, 

Which withers in its bloom, 
And only leaves the sorrowing oarth 

A waif of faint perfume. 



I love thee — but the night winds fly, 

On pinions wan and cold, 
And wail my soul's imperfect sigh 

Across the murky wold. 



I LOVE THEE. 215 

The night-winds ! yea, the stars, likewise, 

Dance on their marble floor, 
And ring it round the startled skies — 

The dream, the dream is o'er. 



I love thee, but those echoes bound 
Along the chaos shore, 

The universe hath caught the sound — 
No more ! no more ! no more ! 

The universe ! and hark ! my soul 
Supplies her chorus tone, 

Like some dim gulph whose surges roll- 
Alone ! alone ! alone ! 



I love thee, but 'tis past ! 'tis past ! 

That vision so divine : 
'Twas but a wreath of sunlight cast 

Upon the heaving brine. 
Or 'tw T as the lightning's lovely flash, 

Which gilds the sinking ship, 
A moment, ere the thunder crash 

Of ruin shakes the deep. 



216 I LOVE THEE. 

I love thee, though 'tis now a rain 

Of jewels on the sea — 
The lost links of a broken chain, 

A perished tone of glee. 
Ah ! me, though scarce an infant's hands 

Were powerless as mine, 
I thought to strew the desert's sands 

With drops of ruby wine. 

I love thee, though thou'rt lost to me, 

I know not how nor why ; 
A bright barque vanished from the sea — 

A planet from the sky. 
A fleeting dream : a fading flower ; 

A Borealis fled : 
Ah ! me, 'twere sure a blessed power 

To slumber with the dead. 



I love thee, still it haunts my tongue, 
Though sad the accents fall, 

And like the snowy plumage swung 
Above a funeral pall. 



I LOVE THEE. 217 

And yet there's not a stray star-beam, 

A flower — a breeze, a rill, 
But brings me back that deathless dream, 

I love, I love thee still. 



PONCE DE LEON'S DEEAM. 

BY T. BIBB BRADLEY. 

Inscribed to "W". Gilmore Simms, L. L. D. 

What emotions of joy pervaded the breast of Ponce de 
Leon, when first he beheld Florida, the land of sweet flow- 
ers and limpid streams ! Confident now of finding his long- 
sought Fountain of Youth, his joy knew no bounds. Often he 
wandered from his companions, and roaming alone in the 
blooming forest, gave himself up unrestrainedly to his de- 
lightful musings. — Wash. Irving- 



PAET I. 

"Within fair Florida's domain three hundred years ago, 
How solemn stood the lordly oaks, how hoar the 

misletoe, 
That clung and deftly nestled there, upon those 

monarch trees, 

(218) 



ponce de leon's dream. 219 

As woman's constant love to man, defying storm and 

breeze. 
O'er valley, vale, and sombre mount, dispelling dismal 

shade, 
O'er river, rill, and sparkling fount, in every secret 

glade ; 
On drooping vine and cypress tall, on ash and aspen 

light, 
In loveliness the sun at eve cast golden beams and 

bright, 
A parting smile then threw o'er earth, his farewell 

glance then gave, 
And sweetly lingering gently sank within the waiting 

wave. 



Then rose with mild serener beam the golden-cinctured 

maid, 
A mellow light within her eye, in fairest garb arrayed. 
For briefest space alone she paused to view the fairy 

scene, 
Ere called her star-decked maiden train, right fitting 

tram for Queen ; 

In circles small then waved her hands, with golden 
bracelets bound, 



220 POHCE DE LEON'S DREAM. 

And summoned all who owned her sway, her glittering 

throne around. 
Each handmaid saw the gorgeous gem from out the 

distant space, 
Each joyously obeyed the sign, and paused in proper 

place, 
Such happy smiles dame Nature cast upon her fav'rite 

land, 
E'er flowers bloomed and budded there by gentlest 

zephyrs fanned. 
Bright sank the sun, fair rose the moon, fair was the 

river's flow 
"Within fair Florida's domain three hundred years ago. 



Brave Ponce de Leon wand'ring there, by fond delu- 
sion driven, 

In quest of vernal Fount of Yonth, sure found alone in 
Heaven, 

At eve reclined in pensive mood, beneath a cypress 
tree, 

Forgetting toil and weary march in pleasent reverie. 

" Amid magnolia blossoms here sure fairies often creep, 

And agile elves and blithesome sprites fantastic revel 



221 

In summer midnight still and calm, sure gambol they 

in glee, 
Sure many a lithesome dance they have, in sportive 

frolic free ! 
Or weary with their lively play, their perfumed couches 

make 
Of bud, and leaf, and flow'ret soft, and elf like slumbers 

take." 

So mused the Spaniards passing there, from painful 

roaming free ; 
Well pleased, he deemed it fairest spot that on the earth 

might be. 
Each moment added increased joy ; and raptured at the 

scene, 
He called it habitation fit for elf and fairy Queen. 



Well skilled and apt De Leon was, well trained and 

' quick his eye, 
To view such winning landscape o'er, new beauties to 

descry. 
On other lands had rested oft his raptured, lingering 

glance 
On fairest spot of Italy, on vine clad fields of France ; 



222 

Reclined on banks of Spain's fair streams, at sunset's 

quiet hour, 
He pensively had marked the waves, and felt their 

soothing power, 
As native cot to peasant boy, familiar to his sight 
Was each dark grove that saw the flow -of Guadal- 

quiver bright. 

A wanderer from his joyous youth, he well had learned 

to brave 
The direst perils landsmen fear, all dangers of the 

wave — 
Strong hope to cheer, brave soul to dare, and might 

within his arm, 
Not dangers met in any land, could give him hurt or 

harm. 
Each lonely isle in ocean's waste, from kindred islands 

bann'd, 
The mourning breezes sighing o'er, his waving hair had 

fann'd. 
Yet spot like this, so pure, so calm, had Leon never 

seen, 
Caressed by wind as soft with balm, his forehead ne'er 

had been. 



ponce de leon's dream. 223 

Upon the vale, he gazed awhile, in velvet garb arrayed, 

A moment with the etraying brook his joyful vision 
strayed, 

Awhile he glanced with raptured look, at aspen 
glittVing bright, 

With quivering leaves on every bough each tremulous 
with light, 

A moment hearkened to the song of wanton mocking- 
bird, 

'Mong whispering pines and vocal oaks in dulcet meas- 
ures heard, 

Then watched the small retreating lights by sparkling 
fire-flies given, 

Then counted fav'rite stars of his, as shone they in the 
heaven, 

By sight and song then soothed to sleep, soft drooping 
closed his eye, 

With gentle riv'lets foaming near, and love w T inds 
mourning by. 

Thus gently breathed De Leon worn, in calmest grate- 
ful sleep, 

With moon to guard his weary form and stars their 
watch to keep. 



224 

When sweetest dreams of purest bliss, in thronging 

troops and fast, 
Within the chamber of his mind in brigtest guises 



The captive chained in dungeon deep, and sighing for 

the air, 
Bereft of light and hopeful soul ne'er dreamed a dream 

so fair, 
As welcome sound of gliding boat, bestowing strength 

and life, 
To sinking sailor battling waves, nigh ceasing hopeless 

strife. 
As bright as seems in pilgrim's dreams, on grim Sahar- 

ra's sand, 
The well-remembered brooklet's flow within his native 

land, 
So stole upon the Spaniard's soul, as if by angels 

given, 
A vision blest of heavenly joy that quiet hour of even. 
Surpassing this in joyous bliss, ere vowed his marriage 

vow, 
Such hopeful dreams ne'er lover had as ^Ponce De 

Leon now. 



PAET II. 

Thky say that Ponce De Leon often told his companions of 
enchanting visions which visited his slumbers. He fre- 
quently asserted that a beautiful spirit-maid came to him 
in his sleep, and told him of a certain isle called Bimini, 
where he wonld find his Fountain of Youth. There the earth 
is always green, the flowers are ever blooming, the waters 
limpid and delicate ; not rushing in rude and turbid torrents 
but swelling up in crystal fountains and winding on in 
peaceful and silent streams. There no harsh and boisterous 
winds are permitted to ravage the beauty of the groves, 
there prevails no melancholy nor darksome weather, no 
drowning rain, nor pelting hail; a perpetual youth and joy 
reigns throughout all nature, and nothing decays or dies. 
Would God I were there ! — St. Basilius. 

Of heavenly mien beside him seemed, to fancy's misty 

sight, 
A woodland nymph of sweetest form enrobed in snowy 

white. 
Her trailing garments fell behind, reposed in graceful 

fold; 
And near with gentlest dalliance strayed the wooing 

night winds bold. 

(225) 



226 ponce de leon's dream. 

In eye as deep as deepest spot in ocean's azure blue 
"Where sailing seaman pausing still his fathom line o'er- 

threw, 
A mild subduing mellow light in quiet splendor lay, 
As if her orbs from heaven had ta'en some purest 

holiest ray. 

Beflecting moonbeams' willing light a circling golden 

crown, 
Her forehead bright, of Parian white, with loving pres* 

sure bound ; 
And many a sparkling effort made enamoured glance to 

throw, 
At dewy lips with nectar fraught in rosy mouth below. 
Upon her swelling bosom strayed, dark-flowing curls 

nor few, 
Full o'er her face with loveliest grace a gentle shadow 

threw. 

A purer bloom on smile-lit cheek reposed in healthier 

hue, 
Upon beloved Dian's face, ne'er fond Latona knew, 



PONCE DE LEON S DREAM. 22? 

With martial leap from parent brain, young" Pallas 

bursting armed 
With queenlier form or finer grace, approving Jove ne'er 

charmed, 
As fair in mien ne'er Dido seemed, when bold Aeneas 

came, 
By single glance enkindling fast love's quickest, fiercest 

flame. 



As erst of old with fleetest haste from high Olympian 

heaven, 
To speeding wings by thoughts of love, a bolder im- 
pulse given, 
Sweet Venus fled, nor gazed behind each sulky glance 

to view, 
That haughty Juno's vengeful eye in ireful envy threw ; 
On, darting on with speediest sweep, as arrows cleave 

the air, 
O'er shoulders smooth as ivory far -waved her auburn 

hair : 
Nor ceased her eager course nor paused, till 'neath in 

green array 
Fair Ida's cherished bowers of love in sylvan beauty 

lay. 



228 ponce r>E leon's dream. 

A moment brief then poised in space, sustained on out- 
spread wing, 

As calmest lull of Spring-winds soft, which bounteous 
showers bring, 

She glanced her eye o'er wood and grove, with eager 
wish to see 

Anchises dreaming dreams of her, beneath her myrtle 
tree. 

When viewing with far-reaching sight, in graceful out- 
lines traced 

Her slumbering lover's cherished form, with plumed 
helmet graced, 

In waving circles drooping down, her earthward course 
she tends, 

With balmiest sighs a fragrance soft to perfnmed 
breezes lends, 

With noiseless footfall she alights, her dreaming loved 
one by, 

And on him turns a glance that burns, with flame-enkin- 
dled eye. 

Thus fair, thus graceful seemed the Nymph to Leon's 
wildered sight, 

As if escaped from fairy land, in swift impetuous flight. 

And as she paused near Leon's form with rosy lips 
apart) 



ponce de leon's dream. 229 

With tiny hands on trembling breast to still her trem'- 
lous heart, 

So gently pressed the velvet grass her little fairy feet, 

That grateful blades beneath unsoiied, bestowed their 
kisses sweet ; 

And eager moonbeams softly crept from ash and cy- 
press tree, 

And hastened on through orange bowers, such glorious 
sight to see. 

The woodland maid serenely gazed, and pitying glances 

threw 
From eyes like angels sooth may have, but mortals 

very few, 
Upon the war-worn warrior's form encased in coat of 

mail, 
That form that many a storm had braved, and many a 

winter's gale : 
That torn by many a battle long, by many a siege 

harassed, 
Tho' scathed ne'er bent, tho' scarred ne'er bowed, un- 
yielding to the last. 
Then still advanced with tread subdued and slowly 

leant her there, 
11 



230 PONCE DE LEON'S DREAM. 

Until the slumberer's breath disturbed her curls of 

floating hair. 
Upon his forehead, rough and high, her twining fingers 

placed, 
And touched with care the wrinkles there by direst 

hardships traced. 
Nor lingered long the maid to note how fleeting time's 

decay, 
Had solemnized his raven hair with sacred strands of 

grey, 
But utterance gave to dulcet words with full delicious 

tone, 
Prom lips as soft as Cashmere's rose, her rarest rose 
full blown. 



SONG OF THE SPIRIT MAIDEN. 

De Leon, De Leon, why sleepest thou now, 
With tokens of sorrow traced over thy brow ? 
Is care thy sad portion by night and by day, 
And will not soft slumber sooth sorrow away ? 



PONCE DE LEON'S DBEAM. 231 

Oh ! swiftly I've speeded from Dream-land this night 
Ne'er pausing a moment, on ever in flight, 
I've journeyed o'er mountains and swam o'er the sea, 
Awake thee, awake thee, I've tidings for thee ! 

In Bimini island green-crested and fair, 
Where cypress and palm trees e'er blossoming are, 
Where Zephyrs enamoured the sweet flowers woo, 
The solace of sorrow lies waiting for you. 

On many bright lands thy bold footsteps have been, 
Fit homes for the weary thy vision hath seen, 
Gem island by fond waves of ocean caressed, 
Where tempest-tossed seamen from danger might rest. 

For storm-nurtured petrel, though wanderer he, 
Ne'er journeyed more fathoms alone o'er the sea, 
Than thou with brave Colon, the mariner's kins'. 
Whose requiem ever the billows shall sing. 

Yet island so cheery, so lovely to view 
Ne'er welcome hath offered to Colon or you, 
As Bimini island where alway the surf, * 
With gentleBt obeisance approaches the turf. 



232 ponce de leon's dream. 

The rarest of flowers so plenteous there grow, 
That withered leaves falling, when spicy winds blow, 
In circles borne upwards, float cloud-like for miles, 
'Till odorous ocean receives them with, smiles. 

There myrtle, magnolia, and cypress combine, 
To give to the island a beauty divine ; 
And birds of fair plumage in trills ever sweet, 
Pond praises of Bimini softly repeat. 

Gay ever with blossoms, caressed by the breeze, 
In sunshine all glittering bloom alway the trees. 
By tempest uninjured, full branches they bear, 
Nor leaf-stopping autumn, nor winter they fear. 

There leapeth in beauty, and sparkleth in glee, 
Thy fountain of youth overflowing and free, 
As mirror of silver, bright burnished it seems, 
Forever emitting its clear limpid streams. 

At roseate matin fast hastens the sun, 

To cast his first beamings this fountain upon, 

And Luna above it oft pauses in flight, 

To see her form mirrored in waters so bright 



233 



A velvety margin the blue waters have, 
Where roses and lilies, sweet suppliants, crave 
Permission to droop them, and gently bestow 
Their lingering kiss on the surface below. 

De Leon, De Leon, if more thou wouldst know, 
Awake thee from slumber and with me come go, 
Ere star-light hath faded, ere moon-beams may pale, 
O'er mountains and forest, o'er valley and vale, 

Where wooed by the ocean, by Zephyrs caressed, 
In vernal bloom budding, in happiness blest, 
E'er sparkling in verdure, 'neath balmiest skies, 
Queen-bride of old Neptune, sweet Bimini lies. 



PAET III. 



The waters of Helicon and Parnassus have no sanative 
power, nor other stream gliding on our earth. But hard by 
the eternal throne of God, our ever-blessed Maker, the true 
Fountain of Life gushes up, and thereof the Angels and 
Arch-angels forever do drink. Vicesimus Knox. 



With cadence soft and musical the maiden ceased her 

song, 
But 'mid the forests still and calm, its echo floated 

long, 
Now ling'ring 'mid the cypress boughs, now whispering 

with the pine, 



ponce de leon's dream. 235 

Then fleeting, fleeing, flowing on in fitful measures fine, 
'Till mingled with the rippling noise loud murmuring 

brooklets gave, 
In stronger tones of dulcet sound it found its fitting 

grave. 



Ah ! see the slumberer moving now, the sleepers pulses 

thrill, 
And inspirations fast and deep his heaving bosom fill ! 
A smile his forehead dallies o'er, as in his happiest 

mood, 
And furrowed cheeks are all suffused with warm Cas- 

tilian blood ; 
With eager impulse open now his sleep refusing eyes, 
And straight before he gazeth long with look of mute 

surprise. 



As feels the sinking mariner, when swiftly floating by, 
Huge, broken spars elude his grasp and leave him there 

to die, 
A prisoner lone in dreary cell with iron fetters bound, 
Whose list'ning ears hear Chanticleer, with shrillest 

matin sound, 



236 

Announce to him Aurora fair, slow ushering in the day, 
That ere its close will view his form a lump of lifeless 

clay ; 
As feels the mother when she knows that stern unpity- 

ing death, 
Upon her child, her only child, hath breathed with 

noisome breath, 
"Upon those eyes once sparkling bright, his icy seals 

hath placed, 
And on that snow-white purest brow his mournful token 

traced, 
So felt De Leon, conscious then that visions fond and 

vain, 
Had sported with his hoping soul, and left him sad 

again. 

Alas ! alas ! that waking sight such bliss could e'er de- 
stroy, 

The maiden sped, to dreamland fled, and with her bore 
his joy, 

His holiest joy without alloy on winged pinions bore, 

And left him weeping, wailing there in agony full sore ! 

Protracted sighs that well bespeak the anguish of his 
soul, 



PONCE DE LEON'S DKEAM. 237 

From out his sorrow-laden breast in slow succession 
roll; 

From eyes that oftener far were wont in generous 
pride to gleam, 

Large trickling tear-drops down his cheek in rapid tor- 
rents stream. 



Ah ! Ponce De Leon, well for thee, broad-breasted man 

of oak, 
No human eye beholds thee wail for this thy saddest 

stroke ! 
Thy lordly pride could never brook to yield to melting 

mood, 
If witnessing thy helpless grief a comrade near thee 

stood. 
For ne'er has foeman seen thee shrink, nor mortal seen 

thee quail 
In strife, or siege, in woe or war, in tempest or in gale. 



Yet weep, De Leon, freely weep, alone and desolate, 
Let every willing tear drop sad pursue its trickling 
mate ! 

11* 



238 ponce de leon's dream. 

There's little fear of prying gaze, thy sole companions 
are 

The solemn forest-trees around, that in thy sorrow 
share. 

Beside thee wave the willows lone all sadly to and fro, 

As if lamenting buried dead the cheerful earth below; 

About thee grieving night-winds sing their slow and se- 
rious lays, 

Above in sparkling sympathy sad stars pour down their 
rays. 

Then weep, deluded Leon, weep the hope that cheered 
thy heart, 

That far hath led thee o'er the sea and bade thee early 
part 

From kindred race and native land, sweet joys of love 
forego 

Thy pining, yearning, longing soul may never, never 
know. 

Amid the rnauy gifts to man for mortal uses meet, 

Abundant found in every land is water ever sweet, 

The tired latorer owns it sweet with irksome toiling 
spent, 

And sated piince when gen'rous wines afford no nutri- 
ment. 



ponce de leon's dream. 239 

Dh ! fair to view this liquid pure where'er it hath its 

birth, 
In crystal goblet flowing free or bounding o'er the 

earth ! 
In glitt'ring rain drops falling fast, transparent globes 

that form, 
In passing showers of early spring or in the winter's 

storm ! 
In sparkling tear by purest joy from eye of maiden led. 
In pitying streams from angel's eyes for human woes 

e'er shed 
Or in the morning's trem'lous dew soft quiv'ring in the 

light, 
Which God the Giver ever spreads to cheer our mor 

tal sight ! 



Upon our bounteous mother-earth what copious waters 

glide ! 
Capacious seas upon whose breast large navies safely 

ride ! 
Majestic rivers rolling on with right baronial mien, 
And fairy lakes reflecting each fair Luna's roseate 

sheen 1 



240 ponce de leon's dream. 

How many a fountain gushes up with murmur and with 
song, 

And many a brook soft warbling makes as journeys it 
along ; 

And silvery streams, or large or small, their fertile 
windings take 

'Mid pleasant fields of waving grain, their burning 
thirst to slake. 

Y"et ah ! vain dreamer, none of these, tho' pure th& wa- 
ters be, 

May give to man perpetual youth, from danger set him 
free ! 

Not limpid draughts from clearest streams in fairest 
lands that leap, 

Not famed Bandusia's joyous fount where guard sweet 
Naiads keep, 

Such precious priceless boon may yield, to mortals e'er 
denied : 

Our native earth for all her sons hath resting-place sup- 
plied. 

Or tiver silver cord be loosed, or broken golden bowl, 

From crumbling tenement of clay departs the immortal 
soul. 



PONCE DE LEON'S DREAM. 241 

Then search, oh ! mortal, not on earth such vernal fount 

to find, 
But upward look with eye of faith and calm and trust- 
ing mind 
Encompassing Jerusalem, blest city of our God, 
A city girt with sapphire walls by angel footsteps trod, 
Where toil, nor woe, nor death is known, nor darkness 

there, nor night, 
Celestial waters ever flow, and gleam in golden light. 

One draught from that divinest source, a single drop if 

given, 
"Will yield thee never-ending youth, and life fore'er in 

heaven. 
When this thy soul hath tasted once, thy voice will ever 

sing 
Amid the sons of God on high, u ITosanah To Our 

King:' 



TWO SCENES. 



THE MORN. 



Aurora, by the am'rous morning chased 

Rides blushing in her chariot purple-wheeled. 

Tall budding trees in bright reflection dyed 

O'er all their clust'ring boughs grow red. The lake, 

Ear gleaming in the forest's deep recess, 

Beholds the scene and all her waters sing, 

Beautiful, how beautiful I Lo ! where 

To greet the morn their proud heads lilies bow, 

And all its silver limbs the aspen waves, 

Two beings walk most lovely in their youth. 



244 TWO SCENES. 

She fair as Eve, when with long tresses loosed 
And lambent eyes and most delicious form, 
To Adam's gaze she seemed an angel sped 
To lure him up to Heaven. He like the morn 
That ardent sues Aurora o'er the hills, 
And wins her in the vale. Most lovely pair ! 
Their humid eyes as language speak warm vows, 
While o'er their cheeks the softest blushes steal, 
Then flit like rosiest dreams. How sweet to them 
The Earth with all her varied beauty smiles ! 
How kind the winds to kiss their radiant brows 
And breathe of Youth and Love ! How blue that sky 
That arches forth its benediction there ! 
The waves how glad that speeding to the shore 
Desirous foam to greet the youthful pair ! 
How deep the toiies that from their Soul-harps roll ! 
How thrill their forms quivering with utter bliss ! 
Oh ! they are happy now, these loving ones. 



THE MOONLESS NIGHT. 



The dim stars give no light, and Dian dies. 
The wailing winds sing peans, and wan clouds 
With tattered shrouds roam trembling in the vault 
Like lost souls Hades bound. The stately trees 
Stand motionless all sullen in their gloom. 
Forth from the forest aisles roll deeper tones, 
That mingling with the lake's low music iloat 
Till all her darkened waves in unison 
Flow mournfully, how mournfully ! Lo ! where 
Its growth the aspen shrinks, where lilies droop 
To lay white crowns in sorrow on the turf, 
One being walks most wretched in his woe. 
The crispate leaves that strew his midnight path 
Like dead hopes rustle 'neath his lonely tread. 
His brow bears tokens of those restless griefs 
Which writhe like serpents in man's biain, and bite. 
Deep set beneath a fore-head pale his eyes 
Flow laden with the anguish of a life. 
His cheeks sink hueless, save twin hectic spots 
That tell a fever fires a feeble frame. 



246 TWO SCENES. 

The Earth — how seems she now? All black and 

blind 
As Destiny herself! How drear that sky. 
Now curving out dark malediction there ! 
How sad the waves that shiv'ring shun the shore ! 
How sound the tones that now his soul's harp thrill ? 
How shakes his frame quivering with utter woe ! 
Oh ! he is lonely now, this weary one. 






MY BROTHER. 



Eum Amavi, Sed Mortuus Est.' 



My Brother, ere spring with its roses had perished, 
When leaves of the forest were gayest in bloom, 
We bore thee, the dear one, the ardently cherished, 
To sleep where thy kindred lie low in the tomb. 
Now summer's bright banners are tattered and torn, 
And leaves of the autumn lie scattered and sere, 
And clouds o'er the mountain go grieving forlorn 
As the heart of the mourner who weeps for thee here. 



248 MY BROTHER. 

Yet rest thee, my Brother, the years that are fleeting 
Can chill not with sorrow thy fond bosom now ; 
The storms that around me so wildly are beating 
Can pour not their terrors upon thy young brow. 
That brow of it beauty, its radiance divine 
I would not that ills of this world should beguile ; 
And the eyes that so often looked love into mine 
Should look into angels' forever and smile. 

"Why call thee to plains where the flowers all languish, 
Where shadows appall the poor pilgrims who stray, 
Where music is stifled in low wails of anguish, 
When darkness fears never the dawn of a day ? 
No, longer, thou loved one, away from this scene, 
In climes bright with sunshine unfold thy pure wing, 
By streams that are golden, o'er fields that are green, 
Where soft fountains murmur, and glad angels sing. 



THE THEEE PILGRIMS. 



A barque bounded forth, when the sunlight of morning 
Eeposed like a mantle on soft summer seas ; 

Her light fairy prow seemed the blue billows scorning, 
Her white shining sail seemed deriding the breeze. 



Three lovely young pilgrims were manning that vessel, 

They came from the shades of a far mountain dell, 

Nor knew they the tradewinds and tempests that wrestle 

And rock-reefs that lurk where the sea billows swe 
12 



252 THE THREE PILGRIMS. 

They sought far across the blue desert of waters, 
The shore of an Araby blessed and bright, 

Where Flora would grant them her beautiful daughters, 
And Love's music-bird sing a song of delight. 

Ah ! one of their number seemed careless in duty — 
'Twas Joy, gaily glancing among the bright spars ; 

And her brow had the stamp of that singular beauty, 
Of such as are summoned in youth to the stars. 

But Hope's golden tresses were steadfastly streaming 
In planet-like glory, above the gilt helm ; 

While Youth at her side stood unconsciously dreaming, 
And watching the waves curling back from the stern. 

For a brighter blue sky o'er a barque never bendedj 
A softer blue ocean a barque never bore, 

And spirit-like zephyrs from heaven descended 
And tenderly wafted her far from the shore. 

And gaily the mariners sang as they glided — 
Their ship it Was stout and their flag it was free ; 

Their keel, like a keen silver arrow divided 
The heart of the broad and the beautiful sea. 



THE THREE PILGRIMS. 253 

'Tis true it was stout, but alas ! 'twas a stranger 
To seas where the coral reef parted the wave ; 

And it heedlessly rushed in the bosom of danger, 
Where none hovered near for to pity or save. 



And it sank in the prime of a golden-hued morning 
'Mid billows as soft as an infant's repose ; 

The bell-fashioned sky ringing never a warning, 
To tell that the waters would over it close. 



Straight down to the sea-monarch's chrystalline 
chamber 

It silently sped, like the beam of a star. 
Where sea-nymphs encrusted its cordage with amber, 

And girdled with flowers each delicate spar. 



And the pilgrims — oh ! when the cold deluge rushed 
darkling 

The sheen of that forehead, so strangely divine ; 
Joy died on the waters, died flashing and sparkling, 

Like libated foam from a beaker of wine. 



254 THE THREE PILGRIMS. 

And Youth slowly sank with a sorrowful murmur, 
That gifted the wind with the voice of despair — 

With her features upturned to the blue sky of summer, 
That arched with a smile o'er the wretchedness there. 

But Hope faltered not, for with dauntless devotion 
She snatched her pale friend from a watery grave, 

And fearlessly breasting the perilous ocean, 

Her long sunny hair streamed above the blue wave. 

Long, long on the waters, unfriended she drifted, 
Till planting her foot, it rung firmly and free 

On the strand of an Island that silently lifted 
Her desolate rocks from the depths of the sea. 

But her helpless companion had faded and fainted ; 

The color had fled from his hyacinth curls, 
And the blue lines of suffering had mournfully painted 

The mouth that once sparkled with roses and pearls. 

She clasped his cold temples, she sang of "to-morrow," 

She tore ner pale lips with her kisses apart, 
Till a faint wintry smile, like an angel in sorrow, 
Came tremblingly forth from his broken young heart. 



THE THREE PILGRIMS. 255 

And she warbled all day, for she thought that his 
anguish 
Would hush, like the surf, that stood still on the 
shore ; 
But the faithful young pilgrim seemed only to languish, 
And sigh for the Joy that returned nevermore. 



Though she sang like a syren, she could not empower 
His barque to ascend from the sea-caves below ; 

And at last fragile Youth passed away, like a flower, 
Begirt by a dream of incurable woe. 



And then — not till then, did her brave spirit falter, 
And fear chill the lonely survivor in truth : 

As she knelt, like a priest at a dismantled altar, 
And kissed the shut eyes of the beautiful youth. 



Yet her voice rose again, and rose faultless and 
deathless 

Above the hoarse note of the sea-raven's cry, 
Till e'en the wild ocean grew solemn and breathless, 

And stars glided earthward to murmur reply. 



256 THE THREE PILGRIMS. 

Yes, her strain was so loud and divine, that a million 
Of silver-mailed stars rushed athwart the night- 
glooms, 
And they brought a white angel down there to pavilion 
Her bright golden head with his pale sweeping 
plumes. 

And a soft rolling sigh of ineffable sweetness 
Was all that was heard at the close of her lay ; 

For that angel's pale plume mocked a meteor's in 
fleetness, 
And fled with the last of the Pilgrims away. 



TO ONE BEAUTIFUL. 



'Tis midnight now, sweet girl, and thy blue orbs 

In placid slumber closed, embower their rays, 

And o'er thy pillow floats thy soft brown hair. 

Fair sleeper, rest thee in thy innocence 

Unharmed, unawed by visions boding ill. 

Yet little need that I should pray for thee, 

For do not angels poise above thy couch 

And smile upon thy loveliness. Dream on, 

Till wanton morn roams ruddy on the hills, 

And pours red glory on the dewy vales, 

Then wake thee to enchant the sunny day. 

(257) 



258 TO ONE BEAUTIFUL. 

Meantime, while dumb in sleep the oblivious world 
Prates not of misery, while noiselessly 
The waning hours flit by, I sit and count 
Thy beauties o'er. Thy snowy brow I see 
With native grace enthroned, and moistened lips 
That rob young flowers of all their precious food, 
And cheeks carnation-hued, and eyes that beam 
To tenderness subdued, and that white neck 
Than cygnets fairer on the gleaming lake. 
The idle ones that circle round thy throne, 
And pay poor compliments in pleasure's halls, 
These reck not of thy beauty. In my dreams 
As bright as angels by their golden streams, 
Than white-armed houris lovely in their baths, 
I picture thee. And in the sun-lit hours 
The orbs that lure away my cares are thine, 
The lips that murmur loving words are thine, 
And that young form all robed in white, 
Celestial walking in my path, is thine. 



And can'st thou censure me that in the night 
I hold commune with thee. Thro' all the day 
I keep me from thy happy bower, nor come 
To woo for rosy smiles. "When in the vault 



TO ONE BEAUTIFUL. 259 

The languid moon, that loves the earth so well, 

Floats pensively, I cannot bid my heart 

Cease throbbing wild for thee. The midnight air 

Breathes redolent of thee, and stars that shine 

Thro' my lone casement dearly speak of thee. 

'Tis all I ask thus in my solitude, 

To dream I see thy blue eyes bend on me, 

Oh[! tenderly, how tenderly ! to list 

The silver sounds that ripple from thy lips, 

To hear the tripping music of thy step 

O'er flowers gaily gliding, and to twine 

Soft curls that cluster on a brow divine. 



Thou wouldst not rob the pilgrim of his staff, 
Nor from the sinking sailor wrench the spar 
That lifts him o'er the waves. Thou could'st not grasp 
The thirsting traveler's cup, and on the sand 
Pour blessed water drops that yield him life. 
Thy long-lashed eyes will shed no feebler light, 
Nor from thy cheek its peachy smoothness fade, 
Nor smiles less frequent gild thy glowing lips, 
That sorrowful I love thee so. The morn 
Will greet thee buoyant as a soaring lark, 
12* 



260 TO ONE BEAUTIFUL. 

The softest joys have homes in thy pure breast, 
And all the day thy ringing voice will chime 
In lowest laughter. Onward thou wilt move 
An augel in thy loveliness, nor know 
How one lone heart its midnight worshipjpays. 
Then let me dream of thee, and dreaming live. 



A TAY. 



I knew thee but a single day, 
'Twas one, that svnftly sped away, 

With blue and golden skies. 
How gaily wound its lovely march 
Athwart the distant pine and larch — 
'Twas faultless as the rainbow arch, 

That leads to Paradise. 

(261) 



262 A DAY. 

The zephyrs carrolled on the hills, 
The waters warbled in the rills. 

The birds upon the tree : 
The flowers chaunted in perfume, 
The forest waved its bonniest plume, 
And sunbeams chased away the gloom 

That long had^shadowed me. 

For I was sorrowing in my bower — 
A pale and rudely broken flower, 

That sheds its morning tears. 
I sorrowed like a crownless queen, 
My blessings all had fled the scene, 
And friends were not, what friends had been 
In brighter, happier years. 

When soft, and kind a gentle tone 
Came, floating through that bower lone, 

And charmed my soul along, 
It thrilled my very being's core, 
I do not think I knew before 
How musical a name I bore, 

It sounded like a song. 



A DAY. 263 

Ah ! me, when friends have from us turned, 
And all its treasures have been spurned, 

The heart is quickly won. 
That soft tone, calmed my spirit's wave, 
And shadows fled the blue concave, 
"When lifting up, thine eyelid gave 

The day another sun. 

It seemed to me, the bright hours rolled, 
In chariots down a path of gold, 

And scattered fairy flowers. 
A glory hung around tho sky, 
A brilliant rainbow fluttered nigh, 
And sportive clouds up piled on high, 

Their alabaster towers. 



But ah ! it fled — that lovely day, 

Like some sweet minstrel's melting lay, 

That perishes in rhyme. 
It fleeted oft" beyond recall, 
Amid a glorious twilight fall, 
And left its equal not in all 

The Kalendar of time. 



THE PROPHECY. 



Once a Prophetess bade me to bide for a time, 
Till alover should woo in the language of rhyme ; 
In that musical idiom that springs from the heart, 
Like its delicate pulses untutored by art. 

And I heard a sweet measure one beautiful day, 
When the clouds were like roses that blossom in May ; 
So divine and so faultless that melody rolled, 

That it circled my being with bracelets of gold. 

(264) 



THE PBOPHECY. 265 

Though my spirit was sad, when it glided to me, 
There was hope in my heart, and my heart it was free ; 
And my soul was unfearing, and sunward and true, 
As she cleft her lone way up the welkin of blue. 

Though it sometimes had trailed through the bowers of 

Love, 
It had burst from its bondage and glided above, 
For a shackle of silk was not destined to gird 
The broad swooping wing of a proud eagle bird. 



I had dashed through the clouds with mine eye on the 

sun 
Till the goal of his gorgeous meridian was won ; 
When I flamed through the zenith, and laughed in my 

scorn, 
At the gloom of the night, and the mist of the morn. 



On my sun streaming plume, from the place of my birth, 
Like a wild comet star I had girdled the earth — 
Through the blue upper air, where the winds are asleep, 
Far above the old song of the tremulous deep- 



266 THE PROPHECY. 

When I suddenly paused in my cloud-spurning flight, 
By an Island that shone through a shower of light ; 
In the midst of the sea, it rose dazzling and fair, 
And the shell of a minstrel was vibrating there. 



I could not tell half the sweet madrigals breathed, 
For a deeper toned instrument never was wreathed 
But one was the strain that a bright child of song, 
Should to none, but a ruler of music belong. 



And it vibrated there, till a delicate chain 
Grew entwined with the plume of my pinion again, 
But the chain was of gold, and had many a gem, 
Like the beauties, that beam in a bard's diadem. 



So I mingled my harp with the measures I heard, 
Till the zephyr grew vocal and gay as a bird, 
And the ocean, like me, wore the manacles fair, 
That dropped down from that shell when it fettered the 



THE PROPHECY. 267 

And I still linger there, in a tuneiflowing trance, 
Where the winds weave a song, and the waves weave a 

dance, 
For the minstrel, who sings on that Isle in the sea, 
Is the one, that the Prophetess promised to me. 



A SONG. 



There are many around thee, the young and the fair, 

"Who are leading the revel along ; 
And their ringlets may vie with thine own sunny hair, 

And their lips rival thine in the song. 
But there's never a one with that angel-like grace 

In each lineament's marvellous turn — 
With the spirit, that shines through thy beautiful face, 

Like a lamp through a delicate urn. 

(268) 



A SONG. 269 

There are many who brighten the banquet to-night, 

As the wave of the crimson wine flows, 
"With a forehead that beams like a crescent of light, 

And a cheek like the bloom of the rose ; 
But they have not that peace, like a soft brooding dove, 

"Which is sheltering thine innocent youth, 
Nor a brow, which hath brought from its birthplace 
above 

Such a heavenly halo of truth. 

No, they have not an eye, beaming under its shield, 

Like that magical cavern of old, 
"Which to only one fortunate comer revealed 

All its treasure of jewels and gold. 
For there ne'er was a spirit sent down from on high 

Half as bright or as stainless as thine, 
And the Persian's proud idol, though framed in the sky 

Cannot boast a more beautiful shrine. 



THIS "WOELD. 



What is there now in all this world, 

That ministers delight ? 
For every joy, I ever knew, 

Has vanished from my sight. 



My early hopes, like drops of dew, 
Have fleeted from the earth ; 

And every golden star is gone, 
That hung around my birth. 

(270) 



THIS WORLD. 271 

Of all the gifts the fairies gave, 

There now remains but one ; 
It is the gift of shedding tears, 

When all the rest have flown. 

'Tis true I still retain a lyre, 

Whose numbers wildly roll, * 
But ah ! the radiance of its fire 

Leaves darkness in my soul. 

And she who gave it, scarcely gave 

A treasure to my heart, 
'Tis twined with cypress and with rue— 

My spirit's counterpart. 

I do remember, when a child, 

Though sorrowless and gay, 
That then a dim prophetic fear 

Upon my spirit lay. 

It was, that I should live to see 

The wreck of every love ; 
And flourish, like the Upas tree, 

To desolate the grove. 



272 THIS WOKLD. 

And 'tis fulfilled — the last deep love 
Is from my bosom hurled, 

And there is not a joy for me 
In all this wide, wide world. 



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